I N  G 


4 


-  •     ' 
/v  \J 


AN  APACHE  PRINCESS 


' 


THE    FIGHT   IX    THE    CAJfOX 


AN  APACHE 
PRINCESS 


A   Tale  of  the  Indian  Frontier 

BY 
GENERAL  CHARLES  KING 

AUTHOR    OF  "A    DAUGHTER    OF    THE    SIOUX,"    "THE    COLONEL'S 

DAUGHTER,"  "  FORT   FRAYNE,"  "AN  ARMY  WIFE," 

ETC.,    ETC. 


ILLUSTRATIONS    BY 

FREDERIC    REMINGTON 

and 

EDWIN    WILLARD    DEMING 


NEW   YORK 

THE  HOBART  COMPANY 

1903 


COPYRIGHT,  1903, 

BY 
THE  HOBART  COMPANY. 


«i  ?,  *  •£  ?*«•}  "*''"'  I  '     '    '       • 
v;s  i*  6^5  V  ":»:    ^  ;-.    • 


published 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER  I 
THE  MEETING  BY  THE  WATERS,        .        f        .        .        .        .        9 

CHAPTER  II 
SCOT  VERSUS  SAXON,  .  .  .  .  .  .  •  .21 

CHAPTER  III 
MOCCASIN  TRACKS 33 

CHAPTER  IV 
A  STRICKEN  SENTRY,  .  .  . 42 

CHAPTER  V 
THE  CAPTAIN'S  DEFIANCE,  ' 51 

CHAPTER  VI 
A  FIND  IN  THE  SANDS,       .        .        .  .        .        .        .61 

CHAPTER  VII 
"  WOMAN- WALK-IN-THE-NIGHT,"        ......      70 

CHAPTER  VIII 
"APACHE  KNIVES  DIG  DEEP,"  ,  .  .  .  .  .88 

CHAPTER  IX 
A  CARPET  KNIGHT,  INDEED,  " 97 

CHAPTER  X 

"  WOMAN-WALK-IN-THE   NlGHT  "   AGAIN,    .....      IO5 

CHAPTER  XI 
A  STOP— BY  WIRE,  .  .  .  .  .  .  ,  .  .119 

CHAPTER  XII 
FIRE! »  .  t  .130 


6  CONTENTS 

CHAPTER    XIII 
WHOSE  LETTERS  ? •        .     141 

CHAPTER  XIV 
AUNT  JANET  BRAVED 152 

CHAPTER  XV 
A  CALL  FOR  HELP    . .166 

CHAPTER   XVI 
A  RETURN  TO  COMMAND,  ..*..,.     177 

CHAPTER  XVII 
A  STRANGE  COMING,  •**•'.  «        .        .     188 

CHAPTER  XVIII 
A  STRANGER  GOING,  *  .        .        .        .        .        .     199 

CHAPTER    XIX 
BESIEGED.    .        .        .        »..        .        .        .        .        .     213 

CHAPTER   XX 
WHERE  is  ANGELA?   .        .        .        .        .        .        ,        .        .     226 

CHAPTER    XXI 
OUR  VANISHED  PRINCESS,  .        .        .        .        ...        .     238 

CHAPTER    XXII 
SUSPENSE,  «    ' 249 

CHAPTER   XXIII 
AN  APACHE  QUEEN 259 

CHAPTER   XXIV 
THE  MEETING  AT  SANDY,  •        .        .        .        .        .        .     271 

CHAPTER   XXV 
RESCUE  REQUITED,      .  282 

CHAPTER   XXVI 

"  WOMAN- WALK-NO-MORE,"     .  293 

CHAPTER   XXVII 
THE  PARTING  BY  THE  WATERS, 306 

LENVOI 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

PAGE 

FRONTISPIECE 

"Now  HALTING,  DROPPING  ON  ONE  KNEE  TO  FIRE,"     .        .  90 

"  BLAKELY  LED  'EM  ACROSS  No.  4/3  POST,"    .        .        .        .  134 

THE  FIGHT  IN  THE  CANON,        .......  220 

"  INDIAN  SIGNALS  BEYOND  POSSIBILITY  OF  A  DOUBT,"      .        .  242 
"  THEN  SLOWLY,  THEY  SAW  HER  RAISE  HER  RIGHT  HAND, 

STILL  CAUTIOUSLY  HOLDING  THE  LITTLE  MIRROR,"          .  263 

"  THEY  HUSTLED  HER  PONY  INTO  A  RAVINE,"       ..        .        .  270 
"  NATZIE  WRENCHED  HER   HAND   FROM  THAT   OF  BLAKELY, 

AND  WITH  THE  SPRING  OF  A  TlGRESS  BOUNDED  AWAY,"  .  324 


AN  APACHE  PRINCESS 

CHAPTER  I 

THE  MEETING  BY  THE  WATERS 

UNDER  the  willows  at  the  edge  of  the  pool  a 
young  girl  sat  daydreaming,  though  the  day 
was  nearly  done.  All  in  the  valley  was  wrapped 
in  shadow,  though  the  cliffs  and  turrets  across  the  stream 
were  resplendent  in  a  radiance  of  slanting  sunshine.  Not 
a  cloud  tempered  the  fierce  glare  of  the  arching  heavens 
or  softened  the  sharp  outline  of  neighboring  peak  or  dis 
tant  mountain  chain.  Not  a  whisper  of  breeze  stirred  the 
drooping  foliage  along  the  sandy  shores  or  ruffled  the 
liquid  mirror  surface.  Not  a  sound,  save  drowsy  hum  of 
beetle  or  soft  murmur  of  rippling  waters,  among  the 
pebbly  shallows  below,  broke  the  vast  silence  of  the  scene. 
The  snow  cap,  gleaming  at  the  northern  horizon,  lay  one 
hundred  miles  away  and  looked  but  an  easy  one-day 
march.  The  black  upheavals  of  the  Matitzal,  barring  the 
southward  valley,  stood  sullen  and  frowning  along  the 
Verde,  jealous  of  the  westward  range  that  threw  their 
rugged  gorges  into  early  shade.  Above  and  below  the 
still  and  placid  pool  and  but  a  few  miles  distant,  the  pine- 
fringed,  rocky  hillsides  came  shouldering  close  to  the 


10  AN  APACHE  PRINCESS 

-'Stream,  tost,  fell  away,  forming  a  deep,  semicircular 
..  basin,  toward  the  west,  at  the  hub  of  which  stood  bolt- 
•ftpVight  a  tall^  snowy  flagstaff,  its  shred  of  bunting  hang 
ing  limp  and  lifeless  from  the  peak,  and  m  the  dull,  dirt- 
colored  buildings  of  adobe,  ranged  in  rigid  lines  about 
the  dull  brown,  flat-topped  mesa,  a  thousand  yards  up 
stream  above  the  pool,  drowsed  a  little  band  of  martial 
exiles,  stationed  here  to  keep  the  peace  'twixt  scattered 
settlers  and  swarthy,  swarming  Apaches.  The  fort  was 
their  soldier  home ;  the  solitary  girl  a  soldier's  daughter. 

She  could  hardly  have  been  eighteen.  Her  long,  slim 
figure,  in  its  clinging  riding  habit,  betrayed,  despite  round 
ness  and  supple  grace,  a  certain  immaturity.  Her  hands 
and  feet  were  long  and  slender.  Her  sun-tanned  cheek 
and  neck  were  soft  and  rounded.  Her  mouth  was  deli 
cately  chiseled  and  the  lips  were  pink  as  the  heart  of  a 
Bridesmaid  rose,  but,  being  firmly  closed,  told  no  tale  of 
the  teeth  within,  without  a  peep  at  which  one  knew  not 
whether  the  beauty  of  the  sweet  young  face  was  really 
made  or  marred.  Eyes,  eyebrows,  lashes,  and  a  wealth 
of  tumbling  tresses  of  rich  golden  brown  were  all  superb, 
but  who  could  tell  what  might  be  the  picture  when  she 
opened  those  pretty,  curving  lips  to  speak  or  smile? 
Speak  she  did  not,  even  to  the  greyhounds  stretched 
sprawling  in  the  warm  sands  at  her  feet.  Smile  she 
could  not,  for  the  young  heart  was  sore  troubled. 

Back  in  the  thick  of  the  willows  she  had  left  her  pony, 
blinking  lazily  and  switching  his  long  tail  to  rid  his  flanks 
of  humming  insects,  but  never  mustering  energy  enough 


THE  MEETING  BY  THE  WATERS        11 

to  stamp  a  hoof  or  strain  a  thread  of  his  horsehair  riata. 
Both  the  long,  lean,  sprawling  hounds  lolled  their  red, 
dripping  tongues  and  panted  in  the  sullen  heat.  Even 
the  girl  herself,  nervous  at  first  and  switching  with  her 
dainty  whip  at  the  crumbling  sands  and  pacing  restlessly 
to  and  fro,  had  yielded  gradually  to  the  drooping  influ 
ences  of  the  hour  and,  seated  on  a  rock,  had  buried  her 
chin  in  the  palm  of  her  hand,  and,  with  eyes  no  longer 
vagrant  and  searching,  had  drifted  away  into  maiden 
dreamland.  Full  thirty  minutes  had  she  been  there  wait 
ing  for  something,  or  somebody,  and  it,  or  he,  had  not 
appeared. 

Yet  somebody  else  was  there  and  close  at  hand.  The 
shadow  of  the  westward  heights  had  gradually  risen  to 
the  crest  of  the  rocky  cliffs  across  the  stream.  A  soft, 
prolonged  call  of  distant  trumpet  summoned  homeward, 
for  the  coming  night,  the  scattered  herds  and  herd  guards 
of  the  post,  and,  rising  with  a  sigh  of  disappointment,  the 
girl  turned  toward  her  now  impatient  pony  when  her  ear 
caught  the  sound  of  a  smothered  hand-clap,  and,  whirling 
about  in  swift  hope  and  surprise,  her  face  once  more 
darkened  at  sight  of  an  Indian  girl,  Apache  unquestion 
ably,  crouching  in  the  leafy  covert  of  the  opposite  willows 
and  pointing  silently  down  stream.  For  a  moment,  with 
out  love  or  fear  in  the  eyes  of  either,  the  white  girl  and 
the  brown  gazed  at  each  other  across  the  intervening 
water  mirror  and  spoke  no  word.  Then,  slowly,  the  for 
mer  approached  the  brink,  looked  in  the  direction  indi 
cated  by  the  little  dingy  index  and  saw  nothing  to  warrant 


12  AN  APACHE  PRINCESS 

the  recall.  Moreover,  she  was  annoyed  to  think  that  all 
this  time,  perhaps,  the  Indian  girl  had  been  lurking  in 
that  sheltering  grove  and  stealthily  watching  her.  Once 
more  she  turned  away,  this  time  with  a  toss  of  her  head 
that  sent  the  russet-brown  tresses  tumbling  about  her 
slim  back  and  shoulders,  and  at  once  the  hand-clap  was 
repeated,  low,  but  imperative,  and  Tonto,  the  biggest  of 
the  two  big  hounds,  uplifted  one  ear  and  growled  a  chal 
lenge. 

"  What  do  you  want  ? "  questioned  the  white  girl, 
across  the  estranging  waters. 

For  answer  the  brown  girl  placed  her  left  forefinger 
on  her  lips,  and  again  distinctly  pointed  to  a  little  clump 
of  willows  a  dozen  rods  below,  but  on  the  westward 
side. 

"  Do  you  mean — someone's  coming?  "  queried  the  first. 

"  Sh-sh-sh !  "  answered  the  second  softly,  then  pointed 
again,  and  pointed  eagerly. 

The  soldier's  daughter  glanced  about  her,  uncertainly, 
a  moment,  then  slowly,  cautiously  made  her  way  along 
the  sandy  brink  in  the  direction  indicated,  gathering  the 
folds  of  her  long  skirt  in  her  gauntleted  hand  and  step 
ping  lightly  in  her  slender  moccasins.  A  moment  or 
two,  and  she  had  reached  the  edge  of  a  dense  little  copse 
and  peered  cautiously  within.  The  Indian  girl  was  right. 
Somebody  lay  there,  apparently  asleep,  and  the  fair  young 
intruder  recoiled  in  obvious  confusion,  if  not  dismay. 
For  a  moment  she  stood  with  fluttering  heart  and  parting 
lips  that  now  permitted  reassuring  glimpse  of  pearly 


THE  MEETING  BY  THE  WATERS        13 

white  teeth.  For  a  moment  she  seemed  on  the  verge  of 
panicky  retreat,  but  little  by  little  regained  courage  and 
self-poise.  What  was  there  to  fear  in  a  sleeping  soldier 
anyhow  ?  She  knew  who  it  was  at  a  glance.  She  could, 
if  she  would,  whisper  his  name.  Indeed,  she  had  been 
whispering  it  many  a  time,  day  and  night,  these  last  two 
weeks  until — until  certain  things  about  him  had  come  to 
her  ears  that  made  her  shrink  in  spite  of  herself  from 
this  handsome,  petted  young  soldier,  this  Adonis  of  her 
father's  troop,  Neil  Blakely,  lieutenant  of  cavalry. 

"  The  Bugologist,"  they  called  him  in  cardroom  circles 
at  the  "  store,"  where  men  were  fiercely  intolerant  of 
other  pursuits  than  poker,  for  which  pastime  Mr.  Blakely 
had  no  use  whatever — no  more  use  than  had  its  votaries 
for  him.  He  was  a  dreamy  sort  of  fellow,  with  big  blue 
eyes  and  a  fair  skin  that  were  in  themselves  sufficient  to 
stir  the  rancor  of  born  frontiersmen,  and  they  of  Arizona 
in  the  days  of  old  were  an  exaggeration  of  the  type  in 
general  circulation  on  the  Plains.  He  was  something  of 
a  dandy  in  dress,  another  thing  they  loathed;  something 
of  a  purist  in  speech,  which  was  affectation  unpardon 
able;  something  of  a  dissenter  as  to  drink,  appreciative 
of  "  Cucumungo  "  and  claret,  but  distrustful  of  whisky — 
another  thing  to  call  down  scorn  illimitable  from  the  elect 
of  the  mining  camps  and  packing  "  outfits."  But  all 
these  disqualifications  might  have  been  overlooked  had 
the  lieutenant  displayed  even  a  faint  preference  for  poker. 
"  The  Lord  loveth  a  cheerful  giver — or  loser  "  was  the 
creed  of  the  cardroom  circle  at  the  store,  but  beyond  a 


14  AN  APACHE  PRINCESS 

casual  or  smiling  peep  at  the  game  from  the  safe  dis 
tance  of  the  doorway,  Mr.  Blakely  had  vouchsafed  no  in 
terest  in  affairs  of  that  character.  To  the  profane  disgust 
of  Bill  Hyde,  chief  packer,  and  the  malevolent,  if  veiled, 
criticism  of  certain  "  sporty  "  fellow  soldiers,  Blakely  pre 
ferred  to  spend  his  leisure  hours  riding  up  and  down  the 
valley,  with  a  butterfly  net  over  his  shoulders  and  a  ja 
panned  tin  box  slung  at  his  back,  searching  for  specimens 
that  were  scarce  as  the  Scriptures  among  his  commenta 
tors. 

Even  on  this  hot  October  afternoon  he  had  started  on 
his  entomological  work,  but,  finding  little  encouragement 
and  resting  a  while  in  the  shade,  he  had  dozed  away  on  a 
sandy  couch,  his  head  on  his  arms,  his  broad-brimmed 
hat  over  his  face,  his  shapely  legs  outstretched  in  lazy, 
luxurious  enjoyment,  his  tall  and  slender  form,  arrayed 
in  cool  white  blouse  and  trousers,  really  a  goodly  thing 
to  behold.  This  day,  too,  he  must  have  come  afoot,  but 
his  net  and  box  lay  there  beside  him,  and  his  hunt  had 
been  without  profit,  for  both  were  apparently  empty. 
Possibly  he  had  devoted  but  little  time  to  netting  insects. 
Possibly  he  had  thought  to  encounter  bigger  game.  If 
so  his  zest  in  the  sport  must  have  been  but  languid,  since 
he  had  so  soon  yielded  to  the  drowsy  influences  of  the 
day.  There  was  resentment  in  the  heart  of  the  girl  as 
this  occurred  to  her,  even  though  it  would  have  angered 
her  the  more  had  anyone  suggested  she  had  come  in  hope 
of  seeing  or  speaking  with  him. 

And  yet,  down  in  the  bottom  of  her  heart,  she  knew 


THE  MEETING  BY  THE  WATERS   15 

that  just  such  a  hope  had  held  her  there  even  to  the  hour 
of  recall.  She  knew  that,  since  opportunities  for  meet 
ing  him  within  the  garrison  were  limited,  she  had  delib 
erately  chosen  to  ride  alone,  and  farther  than  she  had 
ever  ridden  alone  before,  in  hope  of  meeting  him  without. 
She  knew  that  in  the  pursuit  of  his  winged  prey  he  never 
sought  the  open  mesa  or  the  ravines  and  gorges  of  the 
foothills.  Only  along  the  stream  were  they — and  he — to 
be  found.  Only  along  the  stream,  therefore,  had  she 
this  day  ridden  and,  failing  to  see  aught  of  him,  had  dis 
mounted  to  think  in  quiet  by  the  pool,  so  she  told  herself, 
but  incidentally  to  wait  and  watch  for  him;  and  now  she 
had  found  him,  neither  watching  nor  waiting,  but  in 
placid  unconcern  and  slumber. 

One  reason  why  they  met  so  seldom  in  garrison  was 
that  her  father  did  not  like  him  in  the  least.  The  captain 
was  a  veteran  soldier,  self-taught  and  widely  honored, 
risen  from  the  ranks.  The  lieutenant  was  a  man  of  gen 
tle  breeding  and  of  college  education,  a  soldier  by  choice, 
or  caprice,  yet  quite  able  at  any  time  to  quit  the  service 
and  live  a  life  of  ease,  for  he  had,  they  said,  abundant 
means  of  his  own.  He  had  been  first  lieutenant  of  that 
troop  at  least  five  years,  not  five  months  of  which  had  he 
served  on  duty  with  it.  First  one  general,  then  another, 
had  needed  him  as  aide-de-camp,  and  when,  on  his  own 
application,  he  had  been  relieved  from  staff  duty  to  en 
able  him  to  accompany  his  regiment  to  this  then  distant 
and  inhospitable  land,  he  had  little  more  than  reached 
Camp  Sandy  when  he  was  sent  by  the  department  com- 


16  AN  APACHE  PRINCESS 

mander  to  investigate  some  irregularity  at  the  Apache 
reservation  up  the  valley,  and  then,  all  unsoliciting,  he 
had  been  placed  in  charge  pending  the  coming  of  a  new 
agent  to  replace  the  impeached  one  going  home  under 
guard,  and  the  captain  said  things  about  his  subaltern's 
always  seeking  "  fancy  duty  "  that  were  natural,  yet  un 
just — things  that  reached  Mr.  Blakely  in  exaggerated 
form,  and  that  angered  him  against  his  senior  to  the  ex 
tent  of  open  rupture.  Then  Blakely  took  the  mountain 
fever  at  the  agency,  thereby  still  further  delaying  his  re 
turn  to  troop  duty,  and  then  began  another  complication, 
for  the  contract  doctor,  though  skillful  in  his  treatment, 
was  less  assiduous  in  nursing  than  were  the  wife  of  the 
newly  arrived  agent  and  her  young  companion  Lola, 
daughter  of  the  agency  interpreter  and  his  Apache-Yuma 
wife. 

When  well  enough  to  attempt  light  duty  again,  the 
lieutenant  had  rejoined  at  Sandy,  and,  almost  the  first 
face  to  greet  him  on  his  arrival  was  one  he  had  never  seen 
before  and  never  forgot  thereafter — the  sweet,  laughing, 
winsome  face  of  Angela  Wren,  his  captain's  only  child. 

The  regiment  had  marched  into  Arizona  overland,  few 
of  the  wives  and  daughters  with  it.  Angela,  motherless 
since  her  seventh  year,  was  at  school  in  the  distant  East, 
together  with  the  daughters  of  the  colonel  then  command 
ing  the  regiment.  They  were  older;  were  "finishing" 
that  summer,  and  had  amazed  that  distinguished  officer 
by  demanding  to  be  allowed  to  join  him  with  their 
mother.  When  they  left  the  school  Angela  could  stand 


THE  MEETING  BY  THE  WATERS        17 

it  no  longer.  She  both  telegraphed  and  wrote,  begging 
piteously  to  be  permitted  to  accompany  them  on  the  long 
journey  by  way  of  San  Francisco,  and  so  it  had  finally 
been  settled.  The  colonel's  household  were  now  at  regi 
mental  headquarters  up  at  Prescott,  and  Angela  was  quite 
happy  at  Camp  Sandy.  She  had  been  there  barely  four 
weeks  when  Neil  Blakely,  pale,  fragile-looking,  and  still 
far  from  strong,  went  to  report  for  duty  at  his  captain's 
quarters  and  was  met  at  the  threshold  by  his  captain's 
daughter. 

Expecting  a  girl  friend,  Kate  Sanders,  from  "  down  the 
row,"  she  had  rushed  to  welcome  her,  and  well-nigh  pre 
cipitated  herself  upon  a  stranger  in  the  natty  undress 
uniform  of  the  cavalry.  Her  instant  blush  was  something 
beautiful  to  see.  Blakely  said  the  proper  things  to  re 
store  tranquillity ;  smilingly  asked  for  her  father,  his  cap 
tain  ;  and,  while  waiting  for  that  warrior  to  finish  shaving 
and  come  down  to  receive  him,  was  entertained  by  Miss 
Wren  in  the  little  army  parlor.  Looking  into  her  won 
drous  eyes  and  happy,  blushing  face,  he  forgot  that  there 
was  rancor  between  his  troop  commander  and  himself, 
until  the  captain's  stiff,  unbending  greeting  reminded 
him.  Thoughtless  people  at  the  post,  however,  were 
laughing  over  the  situation  a  week  thereafter.  Neil 
Blakely,  a  squire  of  dames  in  San  Francisco  and  other 
cities  when  serving  on  staff  duty,  a  society  "  swell "  and 
clubman,  had  obviously  become  deeply  interested  in  this 
blithe  young  army  girl,  without  a  cent  to  her  name — with 
nothing  but  her  beauty,  native  grace,  and  sweet,  sunshiny 


18  AN  APACHE  PRINCESS 

nature  to  commend  her.     And  everyone  hitherto  had  said 
Neil  Blakely  would  never  marry  in  the  army. 

And  there  was  one  woman  at  Sandy  who  saw  the  symp 
toms  with  jealous  and  jaundiced  eyes — Clarice,  wife  of 
the  major  then  commanding  the  little  "  four-company  " 
garrison.  Other  women  took  much  to  heart  the  fact  that 
Major  Plume  had  cordially  invited  Blakely,  on  his  return 
from  the  agency,  to  be  their  guest  until  he  could  get  set 
tled  in  his  own  quarters.  The  Plumes  had  rooms  to 
spare — and  no  children.  The  major  was  twelve  years 
older  than  his  wife,  but  women  said  it  often  looked  the 
other  way.  Mrs.  Plume  had  aged  very  rapidly  after  his 
sojourn  on  recruiting  duty  in  St.  Louis.  Frontier  com 
missariat  and  cooking  played  hob  with  her  digestion,  said 
the  major.  Frontier  winds  and  water  dealt  havoc  to  her 
complexion,  said  the  women.  But  both  complexion  and 
digestion  seemed  to  "  take  a  brace,"  as  irreverent  youth 
expressed  it,  when  Neil  Blakely  came  to  Sandy  and  the 
major's  roof.  True,  he  stayed  but  six  and  thirty  hours 
and  then  moved  into  his  own  domicile — quarters  No.  7 — 
after  moving  out  a  most  reluctant  junior.  Major  Plume 
and  Mrs.  Plume  had  expected  him,  they  were  so  kind  as 
to  say,  to  choose  a  vacant  half  set,  excellent  for  bachelor 
purposes,  under  the  roof  that  sheltered  Captain  Wren, 
Captain  Wren's  maiden  sister  and  housekeeper,  and  An 
gela,  the  captain's  daughter.  This  set  adjoined  the 
major's  big  central  house,  its  south  windows  looking  into 
the  major's  north  gallery.  "  It  would  be  so  neighborly 
and  nice,"  said  Mrs.  Plume.  Instead,  however,  Mr. 


THE  MEETING  BY  THE  WATERS        19 

Blakely  stood  upon  his  prerogative  as  a  senior  subaltern 
and  "  ranked  out "  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Bridger  and  baby,  and 
these  otherwise  gentle  folk,  evicted  and  aggrieved,  know 
ing  naught  of  Blakely  from  previous  association,  and 
seeing  no  reason  why  he  should  wish  to  be  at  the  far  end 
of  the  row  instead  of  the  middle,  with  his  captain,  where 
he  properly  belonged,  deemed  themselves  the  objects  of 
wanton  and  capricious  treatment  at  his  hands,  and  re 
sented  it  according  to  their  opportunities.  Bridger,  being 
a  soldier  and  subordinate,  had  to  take  it  out  in  soliloquy 
and  swear-words,  but  his  impetuous  little  helpmate — be 
ing  a  woman,  a  wife  and  mother,  set  both  wits  and  tongue 
to  work,  and  heaven  help  the  man  when  woman  has  both 
to  turn  upon  him !  In  refusing  the  room  and  windows 
that  looked  full-face  into  those  of  Mrs.  Plume,  Blakely 
had  nettled  her.  In  selecting  the  quarters  occupied  by  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Bridger  he  had  slightly  inconvenienced  and 
sorely  vexed  the  latter.  With  no  incumbrances  whatever, 
with  fine  professional  record,  with  personal  traits  and 
reputation  to  make  him  enviable,  with  comparative  wealth 
and,  as  a  rule,  superlative  health,  Blakely  started  on  his 
career  as  a  subaltern  at  Sandy  with  three  serious  handi 
caps, — the  disfavor  of  his  captain,  who  knew  and  loved 
him  little, — the  prejudice  of  Mrs.  Bridger,  who  knew  and 
loved  him  not  at  all, — and  the  jealous  pique  of  Mrs. 
Plume,  who  had  known  and  loved  him,  possibly,  too  well. 
There  was  little  duty  doing  at  Sandy  at  the  time  where 
of  we  write.  Men  rose  at  dawn  and  sent  the  horses  forth 
to  graze  all  day  in  the  foothills  under  heavy  guard.  It 


20  AN  APACHE  PRINCESS 

was  too  hot  for  drills,  with  the  mercury  sizzling  at  the 
hundred  mark.  Indian  prisoners  did  the  "  police  "  work 
about  the  post;  and  men  and  women  dozed  and  wilted  in 
the  shade  until  the  late  afternoon  recall.  Then  Sandy 
woke  up  and  energetically  stabled,  drilled,  paraded  under 
arms  at  sunset,  mounted  guard  immediately  thereafter, 
dined  in  spotless  white;  then  rode,  drove,  flirted,  danced, 
gossiped,  made  mirth,  melody,  or  monotonous  plaint  till 
nearly  midnight;  then  slept  until  the  dawn  of  another 
day. 

Indians  there  were  in  the  wilds  of  the  Mogollon  to  the 
southeast,  and,  sometimes  at  rare  intervals  straying  from 
the  big  reservation  up  the  valley,  they  scared  the  scat 
tered  settlers  of  the  Agua  Fria  and  the  Hassayampa ;  but 
Sandy  rarely  knew  of  them  except  as  prisoners.  Not  a 
hostile  shot  had  been  fired  in  the  surrounding  mountains 
for  at  least  six  months,  so  nobody  felt  the  least  alarm, 
and  many  only  languid  interest,  when  the  white-coated 
officers  reported  the  result  of  sunset  roll-call  and  inspec 
tion,  and,  saluting  Major  Plume,  the  captain  of  "  C " 
Troop  announced  in  tones  he  meant  should  be  heard  along 
the  row :  "  Mr.  Blakely,  sir,  is  absent !  " 


CHAPTER  II 

SCOT  VERSUS   SAXON 

THREE  women  were  seated  at  the  moment  on 
the  front  veranda  of  the  major's  quarters — 
Mrs.  Plume,  Miss  Janet  Wren,  the  captain's 
sister,  and  little  Mrs.  Bridger.  The  first  named  had  been 
intently  watching  the  officers  as,  after  the  dismissal  of  their 
companies  at  the  barracks,  they  severally  joined  the  post 
commander,  who  had  been  standing  on  the  barren  level 
of  the  parade,  well  out  toward  the  flagstaff,  his  adjutant 
beside  him.  To  her  the  abrupt  announcement  caused  no 
surprise.  She  had  seen  that  Mr.  Blakely  was  not  with 
his  troop.  The  jeweled  hands  slightly  twitched,  but  her 
voice  had  the  requisite  and  conventional  drawl  as  she 
turned  to  Miss  Wren :  "  Chasing  some  new  butterfly,  I 
suppose,  and  got  lost.  A — what  time  did — Angela  re 
turn?" 

"  Hours  ago,  I  fancy.  She  was  dressed  when  I  re 
turned  from  hospital.  Sergeant  Leary  seems  worse  to 
day." 

"  That  was  nearly  six,"  dreamily  persisted  Mrs.  Plume. 
"  I  happened  to  be  at  the  side  window."  In  the  pursuit 
of  knowledge  Mrs.  Plume  adhered  to  the  main  issue  and 
ignored  the  invalid  sergeant,  whose  slow  convalescence 
had  stirred  the  sympathies  of  the  captain's  sister. 

21 


22  AN  APACHE  PRINCESS 

"  Yes,  it  was  nearly  that  when  Angela  dismounted," 
softly  said  Mrs.  Bridger.  "  I  heard  Punch  galloping 
away  to  his  stable." 

"Why,  Mrs.  Bridger,  are  you  sure?"  And  the  spin 
ster  of  forty-five  turned  sharply  on  the  matron  of  less  than 
half  her  years.  "  She  had  on  her  white  muslin  when  she 
came  to  the  head  of  the  stairs  to  answer  me." 

Mrs.  Bridger  could  not  be  mistaken.  It  was  Angela's 
habit  when  she  returned  from  her  rides  to  dismount  at  the 
rear  gateway ;  give  Punch  his  conge  with  a  pat  or  two  of 
the  hand ;  watch  him  a  moment  as  he  tore  gleefully  away, 
round  to  the  stables  to  the  westward  of  the  big  quad 
rangle  ;  then  to  go  to  her  room  and  dress  for  the  evening, 
coming  down  an  hour  later,  looking  fresh  and  sweet  and 
dainty  as  a  de\vy  Mermct.  As  a  rule  she  rode  without 
other  escort  than  the  hounds,  for  her  father  would  not  go 
until  the  sun  was  very  low  and  would  not  let  her  go  with 
Blakcly  or  Duane,  the  only  bachelor  troop  officers  then 
at  Sandy.  He  had  nothing  against  Duane,  but,  having 
set  his  seal  against  the  other,  felt  it  necessary  to  include 
them  both.  As  a  rule,  therefore,  she  started  about  four, 
alone,  and  was  home  an  hour  later.  Five  young  maidens 
dwelt  that  year  in  officers'  row,  daughters  of  the  regi 
ments, — for  it  was  a  mixed  command  and  not  a  big  one, — 
two  companies  each  of  infantry  and  cavalry,  after  the 
manner  of  the  early  7o's.  Angela  knew  all  four  girls,  of 
course,  and  had  formed  an  intimacy  with  one — one  who 
only  cared  to  ride  in  the  cool  of  the  bright  evenings  when 
the  officers  took  the  hounds  jack-rabbit  hunting  up  the 


SCOT  VERSUS  SAXON  23 

valley.  Twice  a  week,  when  Luna  served,  they  held  these 
moonlit  meets,  and  galloping  at  that  hour,  though  more 
dangerous  to  necks,  was  less  so  to  complexions.  As  a 
rule,  too,  Angela  and  Punch  contented  themselves  with 
a  swift  scurry  round  the  reservation,  with  frequent  ford- 
ings  of  the  stream  for  the  joy  it  gave  them  both.  They 
were  rarely  out  of  sight  of  the  sentries  and  never  in  any 
appreciable  danger.  No  Apache  with  hostile  intent  ven 
tured  near  enough  to  Sandy  to  risk  reprisals.  Miners, 
prospectors,  and  ranchmen  were  few  in  numbers,  but,  far 
and  wide  they  knew  the  captain's  bonny  daughter,  and, 
like  the  men  of  her  father's  troop,  would  have  risked 
their  lives  to  do  her  a  service.  Their  aversions  as  to 
Sandy  were  centered  in  the  other  sex. 

Aunt  Janet,  therefore,  had  some  reason  for  doubting 
the  report  of  Mrs.  Bridger.  It  was  so  unlike  Angela  to 
be  so  very  late  returning,  although,  now  that  Mrs. 
Bridger  had  mentioned  it,  she,  too,  remembered  hearing 
the  rapid  thud  of  Punch's  galloping  hoofs  homeward 
bound,  as  was  she,  at  5.45.  Yet,  barely  five  minutes 
thereafter,  Angela,  who  usually  spent  half  an  hour  splash 
ing  in  her  tub,  appeared  full  panoplied,  apparently,  at 
the  head  of  the  stairs  upon  her  aunt's  arrival,  and  was 
even  now  somewhere  down  the  row,  hobnobbing  with 
Kate  Sanders.  That  Lieutenant  Blakely  should  have 
missed  retreat  roll-call  was  in  itself  no  very  serious  mat 
ter.  "  Slept  through  at  his  quarters,  perhaps,"  said 
Plume.  "  He'll  turn  up  in  time  for  dinner/'  In  fine  the 
major's  indifference  struck  the  captain  as  an  evidence  of 


24  AN  APACHE  PRINCESS 

official  weakness,  reprehensible  in  a  commander  charged 
with  the  discipline  of  a  force  on  hostile  soil.  What 
Wren  intended  was  that  Plume  should  be  impressed  by 
his  formal  word  and  manner,  and  direct  the  adjutant  to 
look  up  the  derelict  instanter.  As  no  such  action  was 
taken,  however,  he  felt  it  due  to  himself  to  speak  again. 
A  just  man  was  Wren,  and  faithful  to  the  core  in  his  own 
discharge  of  duty.  What  he  could  not  abide  was  negli 
gence  on  part  of  officer  or  man,  on  part  of  superior  or  in 
ferior,  and  he  sought  to  "  stiffen  "  Plume  forthwith. 

"  If  he  isn't  in  his  quarters,  shall  I  send  a  party  out  in 
search,  sir?  " 

"Who?  Blakely?  Dear,  no,  Wren!  What  for?" 
returned  the  post  commander,  obviously  nettled.  "  I 
fancy  he'll  not  thank  you  for  even  searching  his  quarters. 
You  may  stumble  over  his  big  museum  in  the  dark  and 
smash  things.  No,  let  him  alone.  If  he  isn't  here  for 
dinner,  I'll  'tend  to  it  myself." 

And  so,  rebuffed,  as  it  happened,  by  an  officer  much  his 
inferior  in  point  of  experience  and  somewhat  in  years, 
Wren  silently  and  stiffly  saluted  and  turned  away.  Vir 
tually  he  had  been  given  to  understand  that  his  sugges 
tion  was  impertinent.  He  reached  his  quarters,  therefore, 
in  no  pleasant  mood,  and  found  his  sister  waiting  for  him 
with  Duty  in  her  clear  and  shining  eyes. 

A  woman  of  many  a  noble  trait  was  Janet  Wren, — a 
woman  who  had  done  a  world  of  good  to  those  in  sick 
ness,  sorrow,  or  other  adversity,  a  woman  of  boundless 
faith  in  herself  and  her  opinions,  but  not  too  much  hope 


SCOT  VERSUS  SAXON  26 

or  charity  for  others.  The  blood  of  the  Scotch  Coven 
anters  was  in  her  veins,  for  her  mother  had  been  born  and 
bred  in  the  shadow  of  the  kirk  and  lived  and  died  in  the 
shadow  of  the  cross.  A  woman  with  a  mission  was 
Janet,  and  one  who  went  at  it  unflinchingly.  She  had 
loved  her  brother  always,  yet  disapproved  his  marriage 
to  so  young  and  unformed  a  woman  as  was  his  wife. 
Later,  she  had  deprecated  from  the  start  the  soldier  spirit, 
fierce  in  his  Highland  blood,  that  tore  him  from  the 
teachings  of  their  gentle  mother  and  her  beloved  meenis- 
ter,  took  him  from  his  fair  young  wife  when  most  she 
needed  him  and  sent  him  straightway  into  the  ranks  of 
the  one  Highland  regiment  in  the  Union  Army  at  the  out 
break  of  the  Civil  War.  His  gallant  colonel  fell  at  First 
Bull  Run,  and  Sergeant  Wren  fought  over  his  body  to 
the  fervent  admiration  of  the  Southerners  who  captured 
both.  The  first  War  Secretary,  mourning  a  beloved 
brother  and  grateful  to  his  defender,  commissioned  the 
latter  in  the  regulars  at  once  and,  on  his  return  from 
Libby,  Wren  joined  the  army  as  a  first  lieutenant.  With 
genuine  Scottish  thrift,  his  slender  pay  had  been  hoarded 
for  him,  and  his  now  motherless  little  one,  by  that  devoted 
sister,  and  when,  a  captain  at  the  close  of  the  war,  he 
came  to  clasp  his  daughter  to  his  heart,  he  found  himself 
possessed  of  a  few  hundreds  more  than  fell  to  the  lot  of 
most  of  his  associates.  It  was  then  that  Janet,  mother 
less  herself,  had  stepped  into  the  management  of  her 
brother's  army  home,  and  sought  to  dominate  in  that  as 
she  had  in  everything  else  from  early  girlhood.  Wren 


26  AN  APACHE  PRINCESS 

loved  her  fondly,  but  he,  too,  had  a  will.  They  had  many 
a  clash.  It  was  this,  indeed,  that  led  to  Angela's  going 
so  early  to  an  Eastern  school.  We  are  all  paragons  of 
wisdom  in  the  management  of  other  people's  children. 
It  is  in  dealing  with  our  own  our  limitations  are  so  ob 
vious.  Fond  as  she  had  become  of  Angela's  sweet  young 
mother,  it  must  be  owned  that  whom  Janet  loved  in  this 
way  she  often  chastened.  Neighbors  swore  it  was  not 
grief,  nor  illness,  half  so  much  as  sister-in-law,  that  wore 
the  gentle  spirit  to  the  snapping-point.  The  great  strong 
heart  of  the  soldier  was  well-nigh  broken  at  his  loss,  and 
Janet,  who  had  never  seen  him  shed  a  tear  since  early 
boyhood,  stood  for  once,  at  least,  in  awe  and  trembling 
at  sight  of  his  awful  grief.  Time  and  nature  played  their 
part  and  brought  him,  gradually,  resignation,  but  never 
genuine  solace.  He  turned  to  little  Angela  with  almost 
passionate  love  and  tenderness.  He  would,  mayhap,  have 
spoiled  her  had  not  frontier  service  kept  him  so  much 
afield  that  it  was  Janet  who  really  reared  her, — but  not 
according  to  the  strict  letter  of  her  law.  Wren  knew  well 
what  that  was  and  forbade. 

Misfortunes  came  to  Janet  Wren  while  yet  a  comely 
woman  of  thirty-five.  She  could  have  married,  and  mar 
ried  well,  a  comrade  captain  in  her  brother's  regiment; 
but  him,  at  least,  she  held  to  be  her  own,  and,  loving  him 
with  genuine  fervor  and  devotion,  she  sought  to  turn  him 
in  all  things  to  her  serious  views  of  life,  its  manifold 
duties  and  responsibilities.  She  had  her  ideal  of  what  a 
man  should  be — a  monarch  among  other  men,  but  one 


SCOT  VERSUS  SAXON  27 

knowing  no  God  but  her  God,  no  creed  but  her  creed,  no 
master  but  Duty,  no  mistress  but  herself,  and  no  weak 
ness  whatsoever.  A  braver,  simpler,  kinder  soul  than  her 
captain  there  dwelt  not  in  the  service  of  his  country,  but 
he  loved  his  pipe,  his  song,  his  dogs,  his  horses,  his  troop, 
and  certain  soldier  ways  that,  during  his  convalescence 
from  wounds,  she  had  not  had  opportunity  to  observe. 
She  had  nursed  him  back  to  life  and  love  and,  unwit 
tingly,  to  his  former  harmless  habits.  These  all  she 
would  have  had  him  forswear,  not  for  her  sake  so  much, 
she  said,  but  because  they  were  in  themselves  sinful  and 
beneath  him.  She  sought  to  train  him  down  too  fine  for 
the  rugged  metal  of  the  veteran  soldier,  and  the  fabric 
snapped  in  her  hands.  She  had  sent  him  forth  sore- 
hearted  over  her  ceaseless  importunity.  She  had  told 
him  he  must  not  only  give  up  all  his  ways,  but,  if  he  would 
make  her  happy,  he  must  put  the  words  of  Ruth  into  his 
mouth,  and  that  ended  it.  He  transferred  into  another 
corps  when  she  broke  with  him ;  carried  his  sore  heart  to 
the  Southern  plains,  and  fell  in  savage  battle  within  an 
other  month. 

Not  long  thereafter  her  little  fortune,  invested  accord 
ing  to  the  views  of  a  spiritual  rather  than  a  temporal  ad 
viser, — and  much  against  her  brother's  wishes, — went  the 
way  of  riches  that  have  wings,  and  now,  dependent  solely 
upon  him,  welcomed  to  his  home  and  fireside,  she  never 
theless  strove  to  dominate  as  of  yore.  He  had  had  to  tell 
her  Angela  could  not  and  should  not  be  subjected  to  such 
restraints  as  the  sister  would  have  prescribed,  but  so  long 


AN  APACHE  PRINCESS 

as  he  was  the  sole  victim  he  whimsically  bore  it  without 
vehement  protest.  "  Convert  me  all  you  can,  Janet,  dear," 
he  said,  "but  don't  try  to  reform  the  whole  regiment. 
It's  past  praying-  for." 

Now,  when  other  women  whispered  to  her  that  while 
Mrs.  Plume  had  been  a  belle  in  St.  Louis  and  Mr.  Blakcly 
a  young  society  beau,  the  magnitude  of  their  flirtation 
had  well-nigh  stopped  her  marriage,  Miss  Wren  saw  op 
portunity  for  her  good  offices  and,  so  far  from  avoiding, 
she  sought  the  society  of  the  major's  brooding  wife.  She 
even  felt  a  twinge  of  disappointment  when  the  young 
officer  appeared,  and  after  the  initial  thirty-six  hours 
under  the  commander's  roof,  rarely  went  thither  at  all. 
She  knew  her  brother  disapproved  of  him,  and  thought  it 
to  be  because  of  moral,  not  military,  obliquity.  She  saw 
with  instant  apprehension  his  quick  interest  in  Angela  and 
the  child's  almost  unconscious  response.  With  the  solemn 
conviction  of  the  maiden  who,  until  past  the  meridian,  had 
never  loved,  she  looked  on  Angela  as  far  too  young  and 
immature  to  think  of  marrying,  yet  too  shallow,  vain  and 
frivolous,  too  corrupted,  in  fact,  by  that  pernicious  soci 
ety  school — not  to  shrink  from  flirtations  that  might  mean 
nothing  to  the  man  but  would  be  damnation  to  the  girl. 
Even  the  name  of  this  big,  blue-eyed,  fair-skinned  young 
votary  of  science  had  much  about  it  that  made  her  fairly 
bristle,  for  she  had  once  been  described  as  an  "  austere 
vestal  "  by  Lieutenant  Blake,  of  the  regiment  preceding 
them  at  Sandy,  the  — th  Cavalry — and  a  mutual  friend 
had  told  her  all  about  it — another  handicap  for  Blakely. 


SCOT  VERSUS  SAXON  29 

She  had  grown,  it  must  be  admitted,  somewhat  gaunt 
and  forbidding  in  these  later  years,  a  thing  that  had 
stirred  certain  callow  wits  to  differentiate  between  the 
Misses  Wren  as  Angela  and  Angular,  which,  hearing, 
some  few  women  reproved  but  all  repeated.  Miss 
Wren,  the  sister,  was  in  fine  a  woman  widely  honored  but 
little  sought.  It  was  Angela  that  all  Camp  Sandy  would 
have  met  with  open  arms. 

"  R-r-robert,"  began  Miss  Wren,  as  the  captain  un 
clasped  his  saber  belt  and  turned  it  over  to  Mickel,  his 
German  "  striker."  She  would  have  proceeded  further,  but 
he  held  up  a  warning  hand.  He  had  come  homeward 
angering  and  ill  at  ease.  Disliking  Blakely  from  the 
first,  a  "  ballroom  soldier,"  as  he  called  him,  and  alienated 
from  him  later,  he  had  heard  still  further  whisperings  of 
the  devotions  of  a  chieftain's  daughter  at  the  agency, 
above  all,  of  the  strange  infatuation  of  the  major's  wife, 
and  these  had  warranted,  in  his  opinion,  warning  words 
to  his  senior  subaltern  in  refusing  that  gentleman's  re 
quest  to  ride  with  Angela.  "  I  object  to  any  such  atten 
tions — to  any  meetings  whatsoever,"  said  he,  but  sooner 
than  give  the  real  reason,  added  lamely,  "  My  daughter 
is  too  young."  Now  he  thought  he  saw  impending  duty 
in  his  sister's  somber  eyes  and  poise.  He  knew  it  when 
she  began  by  rolling  her  r's — it  was  so  like  their  child 
hood's  spiritual  guide  and  mentor,  MacTaggart,  erst 
while  of  the  "Auld  Licht "  persuasion,  and  a  power. 

"  Wait  a  bit,  Janet,"  said  he.  "  Mickel,  get  my  horse 
and  tell  Sergeant  Strang  to  send  me  a  mounted  orderly." 


30  AN  APACHE  PRINCESS 

Then,  as  Mickel  dropped  the  saber  in  the  open  doorway 
and  departed,  he  turned  upon  her. 

"Where's  Angela?"  said  he,  "and  what  was  she  do 
ing  out  after  recall?  The  stable  sergeant  says  'twas  six 
when  Punch  came  home." 

"  R-r-robert,  it  is  of  that  I  wish  to  speak  to  you,  and 
before  she  comes  to  dinner.  Hush !  She's  coming 
now." 

Down  the  row  of  shaded  wooden  porticos,  at  the  ma 
jor's  next  door,  at  Dr.  Graham's,  the  Scotch  surgeon  and 
Wren's  especial  friend  and  crony,  at  the  Lynns'  and 
Sanders's  beyond,  little  groups  of  women  and  children  in 
cool  evening  garb,  and  officers  in  white,  were  gathered 
in  merry,  laughing  chat.  Nowhere,  save  in  the  eyes  of 
one  woman  at  the  commanding  officer's,  and  here  at 
Wren's,  seemed  there  anything  ominous  in  the  absence  of 
this  officer  so  lately  come  to  join  them.  The  voice  of 
Angela,  glad  and  ringing,  fell  upon  the  father's  ears  in 
sudden  joy.  Who  could  associate  shame  or  subterfuge 
with  tones  so  charged  with  merriment?  The  face  of 
Angela,  coming  suddenly  round  the  corner  from  the  side 
veranda,  beamed  instantly  upon  him,  sweet,  trusting  and 
welcoming,  then  slowly  shadowed  at  sight  of  the  set  ex 
pression  about  his  mouth,  and  the  rigid,  uncompromising, 
determined  sorrow  in  the  features  of  her  aunt. 

Before  she  could  utter  a  word,  the  father  questioned : 

"Angela,  my  child,  have  you  seen  Mr.  Blakely  this 
afternoon  ?  " 

One  moment  her  big  eyes  clouded,  but  unflinchingly 


SCOT  VERSUS  SAXON  31 

they  met  his  gaze.  Then,  something  in  the  stern  scrutiny 
of  her  aunt's  regard  stirred  all  that  was  mutinous  within 
her;  yet  there  was  an  irrepressible  twitching  about  the 
corners  of  the  rosy  mouth,  a  twinkle  about  the  big  brown 
eyes  that  should  have  given  them  pause,  even  as  she  de 
murely  answered: 

"  Yes." 

"  When  ? "  demanded  the  soldier,  his  muscular  hand 
clutching  ominously  at  the  wooden  rail;  his  jaw  setting 
squarely.  "When — and  where?" 

But  now  the  merriment  with  which  she  had  begun 
changed  slowly  at  sight  of  the  repressed  fury  in  his  rug* 
ged  Gaelic  face.  She,  too,  was  trembling  as  she  an 
swered  : 

"  Just  after  recall — down  at  the  pool." 

For  an  instant  he  stood  glaring,  incredulous.  "At  the 
pool !  You !  My  bairnie ! "  Then,  with  sudden  out 
burst  of  passionate  wrath,  "  Go  to  your  room !  "  said  he. 

"  But  listen — father,  dear,"  she  began,  imploringly. 
For  answer  he  seized  her  slender  arm  in  almost  brutal 
grasp  and  fairly  hurled  her  within  the  doorway.  "  Not 
a  word !  "  he  ground  between  his  clinched  teeth.  "  Go 
instantly ! "  Then,  slamming  the  door  upon  her,  he 
whirled  about  as  though  to  seek  his  sister's  face,  and  saw 
beyond  her,  rounding  the  corner  of  the  northwest  set  of 
quarters,  coming  in  from  the  mesa  roadway  at  the  back, 
the  tall,  white  figure  of  the  missing  man. 

Another  moment  and  Lieutenant  Blakely,  in  the  front 
room  of  his  quarters,  looking  pale  and  strange,  was  being 


32  AN  APACHE  PRINCESS 

pounced  upon  with  eager  questioning  by  Duane,  his 
junior,  when  the  wooden  steps  and  veranda  creaked  un 
der  a  quick,  heavy,  ominous  tread,  and,  with  livid  face 
and  clinching  hands,  the  troop  commander  came  striding 


in. 


"  Mr.  Blakely,"  said  he,  his  voice  deep  with  wrath  and 
tremulous  with  passion,  "  I  told  you  three  days  ago  my 
daughter  and  you  must  not  meet,  and— you  know  why ! 
To-day  you  lured  her  to  a  rendezvous  outside  the 
post- 

"  Captain  Wren !  " 

"  Don't  lie !  I  say  you  lured  her,  for  my  lass  would 
never  have  met  you 

"You  shall  unsay  it,  sir,"  was  Blakely's  instant  re 
joinder.  "Are  you  mad — or  what?  I  never  set  eyes  on 
your  daughter  to-day — until  a  moment  ago." 

And  then  the  voice  of  young  Duane  was  uplifted,  shout 
ing  for  help.  With  a  crash,  distinctly  heard  out  on  the 
parade,  Wren  had  struck  his  junior  down. 


CHAPTER  III 

MOCCASIN   TRACKS 

WHEN  Mr.  Blakely  left  the  post  that  afternoon 
he  went  afoot.  When  he  returned,  just  after 
the  sounding-  of  retreat,  he  came  in  saddle. 
Purposely  he  avoided  the  road  that  led  in  front  of  the 
long  line  of  officers'  quarters  and  chose  instead  the  water- 
wagon  track  along  the  rear.  People  among-  the  laun 
dresses'  quarters,  south  of  the  mesa  on  which  stood  the 
quadrangular  inclosure  of  Camp  Sandy,  eyed  him  curi 
ously  as  he  ambled  through  on  his  borrowed  pony;  but 
he  looked  neither  to  right  nor  left  and  hurried  on  in  ob 
vious  discomposure.  He  was  looking  pale  and  very  tired, 
said  the  saddler  sergeant's  wife,  an  hour  later,  when  all 
the  garrison  was  agog  with  the  story  of  Wren's  mad  as 
sault.  He  never  seemed  to  see  the  two  or  three  soldiers, 
men  of  family,  who  rose  and  saluted  as  he  passed,  and 
not  an  officer  in  the  regiment  was  more  exact  or  scrupu 
lous  in  his  recognition  of  such  soldier  courtesy  as  Blakely 
had  ever  been.  They  wondered,  therefore,  at  his  strange 
abstraction.  They  wondered  more,  looking  after  him, 
when,  just  as  his  stumbling  pony  reached  the  crest,  the 
rider  reined  him  in  and  halted  short  in  evident  embar 
rassment.  They  could  not  see  what  he  saw — two  young 
girls  in  gossamer  gowns  of  white,  with  arms  entwining 


34  AN  APACHE  PRINCESS 

each  other's  waists,  their  backs  toward  him,  slowly  pacing 
northward  up  the  mesa  and  to  the  right  of  the  road. 
Some  old  croquet  arches,  balls,  and  mallets  lay  scattered 
about,  long  since  abandoned  to  dry  rot  and  disuse,  and, 
so  absorbed  were  the  damsels  in  their  confidential  chat, — 
bubbling  over,  too,  with  merry  laughter, — they  gave  no 
heed  to  these  until  one,  the  taller  of  the  pair,  catching  her 
slippered  foot  in  the  stiff,  unyielding  wire,  plunged  for 
ward  and  fell,  nearly  dragging  her  companion  with  her. 
Blakely,  who  had  hung  back,  drove  his  barbless  heels 
into  the  pony's  flanks,  sent  him  lurching  forward,  and  in 
less  than  no  time  was  out  of  saddle  and  aiding  her  to  rise, 
laughing  so  hard  she,  for  a  moment,  could  not  speak  or 
thank  him.  Save  to  flowing  skirt,  there  was  not  the 
faintest  damage,  yet  his  eyes,  his  voice,  his  almost  tremu 
lous  touch  were  all  suggestive  of  deep  concern,  before, 
once  more  mounting,  he  raised  his  broad-brimmed  hat 
and  bade  them  reluctant  good-night.  Kate  Sanders  ran 
scurrying  home  an  instant  later,  but  Angela's  big  and 
shining  eyes  followed  him  every  inch  of  the  way  until  he 
once  more  dismounted  at  the  upper  end  of  the  row  and, 
looking  back,  saw  her  and  waved  his  hat,  whereat  she  ran, 
blushing,  smiling,  and  not  a  little  wondering,  flustered 
and  happy,  into  the  gallery  of  their  own  quarters  and  the 
immediate  presence  of  her  father.  Blakely,  meanwhile, 
had  summoned  his  servant: 

"  Take  this  pony  at  once  to  Mr.  Hart,"  said  he,  "  and 
say  I'll  be  back  again  as  soon  as  I've  seen  the  command 
ing  officer." 


MOCCASIN  TRACKS  35 

When  Downs,  the  messenger,  returned  to  the  house 
about  half  an  hour  later,  it  was  to  find  his  master  pros 
trate  and  bleeding  on  the  bed  in  his  room,  Dr.  Graham 
and  the  hospital  attendant  working  over  him,  the  major 
and  certain  of  his  officers,  with  gloomy  faces  and  mutter 
ing  tongues,  conferring  on  the  piazza  in  front,  and  one  of 
the  lieutenant's  precious  cases  of  bugs  and  butterflies  a 
wreck  of  shattered  glass.  More  than  half  the  officers  of 
the  post  were  present.  A  bevy  of  women  and  girls  had 
gathered  in  the  dusk  some  distance  down  the  row.  The 
wondering  Milesian  whispered  inquiry  of  silent  soldiers 
lingering  about  the  house,  but  the  gruff  voice  of  Ser 
geant  Clancy  bade  them  go  about  their  business.  Not 
until  nearly  an  hour  later  was  it  generally  known  that 
Captain  Wren  had  been  escorted  to  his  quarters  by  the 
post  adjutant  and  ordered  to  remain  therein  in  close  ar 
rest. 

If  some  older  and  more  experienced  officer  than  Duane 
had  been  there  perhaps  the  matter  would  not  have  proved 
so  tragic,  but  the  latter  was  utterly  unstrung  by  Wren's 
furious  attack  and  the  unlooked-for  result.  Without 
warning  of  any  kind,  the  burly  Scot  had  launched  his  big 
fist  straight  at  Blakely's  jaw,  and  sent  the  slender,  still 
fever-weakened  form  crashing  through  a  case  of  speci 
mens,  reducing  it  to  splinters  that  cruelly  cut  and  tore  the 
bruised  and  senseless  face.  A  corporal  of  the  guard, 
marching  his  relief  in  rear  of  the  quarters  at  the  moment, 
every  door  and  window  being  open,  heard  the  crash,  the 
wild  cry  for  help,  rushed  in,  with  his  men  at  his  heels, 


36  AN  APACHE  PRINCESS 

and  found  the  captain  standing  stunned  and  ghastly,  with 
the  sweat  starting  from  his  brow,  staring  down  at  the 
result  of  his  fearful  work.  From  the  front  Captain  San- 
"ders  and  his  amazed  lieutenant  came  hurrying.  Together 
they  lifted  the  stricken  and  bleeding  man  to  his  bed  in 
the  back  room  and  started  a  soldier  for  the  doctor  on  the 
run.  The  sight  of  this  man,  speeding  down  the  row, 
bombarded  all  the  way  with  questions  he  could  not  stop 
to  answer,  startled  every  soul  along  that  westward-facing 
front,  and  sent  men  and  women  streaming  up  the  line 
toward  Blakely's  quarters  at  the  north  end.  The  doctor 
fairly  brushed  them  from  his  path  and  Major  Plume  had 
no  easy  task  persuading  the  tearful,  pallid  groups  of  army 
wives  and  daughters  to  retire  to  the  neighboring  quarters. 
Janet  Wren  alone  refused  point-blank.  She  would  not 
go  without  first  seeing  her  brother.  It  was  she  who  took 
the  arm  of  the  awed,  bewildered,  shame-  and  conscience- 
stricken  man  and  led  him,  with  bowed  and  humbled  head, 
the  adjutant  aiding  on  the  other  side,  back  to  the  door  he 
had  so  sternly  closed  upon  his  only  child,  and  that  now 
as  summarily  shut  on  him.  Dr.  Graham  had  pronounced 
the  young  officer's  injuries  serious,  and  the  post  com 
mander  was  angry  to  the  very  core. 

One  woman  there  was  who,  with  others,  had  aimlessly 
hastened  up  the  line,  and  who  seemed  now  verging  on 
hysterics — the  major's  wife.  It  was  Mrs.  Graham  who 
rebukefully  sent  her  own  braw  young  brood  scurrying 
homeward  through  the  gathering  dusk,  and  then  pos 
sessed  herself  of  Mrs.  Plume.  "  The  shock  has  unnerved 


MOCCASIN  TRACKS  37 

you,"  she  charitably,  soothingly  whispered :  "  Come 
away  with  me,"  but  the  major's  wife  refused  to  go. 
Hart,  the  big  post  trader,  had  just  reached  the  spot,  driv 
ing  up  in  his  light  buckboard.  His  usually  jovial  face 
was  full  of  sympathy  and  trouble.  He  could  not  believe 
the  news,  he  said.  Mr.  Blakely  had  been  with  him  so 
short  a  time  beforehand  and  was  coming  down  again  at 
once,  so  Downs,  the  striker,  told  him,  when  some  soldier 
ran  in  to  say  the  lieutenant  had  been  half  killed  by  Captain 
Wren.  Plume  heard  him  talking  and  came  down  the 
low  steps  to  meet  and  confer  with  him,  while  the  others, 
men  and  women,  listened  eagerly,  expectant  of  develop 
ments.  Then  Hart  became  visibly  embarrassed.  Yes, 
Mr.  Blakely  had  come  up  from  below  and  begged  the 
loan  of  a  pony,  saying  he  must  get  to  the  post  at  once  to 
see  Major  Plume.  Hadn't  he  seen  the  major?  No! 
Then  Hart's  embarrassment  increased.  Yes,  something 
had  happened.  Blakely  had  told  him,  and  in  fact  they — 
he — all  of  them  had  something  very  important  on  hand. 
He  didn't  know  what  to  do  now,  with  Mr.  Blakely  unable 
to  speak,  and,  to  the  manifest  disappointment  of  the  swift- 
gathering  group,  Hart  finally  begged  the  major  to  step 
aside  with  him  a  moment  and  he  would  tell  him  what  he 
knew.  All  eyes  followed  them,  then  followed  the  major 
as  he  came  hurrying  back  with  heightened  color  and  went 
straight  to  Dr.  Graham  at  the  sufferer's  side.  "  Can  I 
speak  with  him  ?  Is  he  well  enough  to  answer  a  question 
or  two?"  he  asked,  and  the  doctor  shook  his  head. 
"  Then,  by  the  Lord,  I'll  have  to  wire  to  Prescott !  "  said 


38  AN  APACHE  PRINCESS 

Plume,  and  left  the  room  at  once.  "  What  is  it?  "  feebly 
queried  the  patient,  now  half-conscious.  But  the  doctor 
answered  only  "  Hush !  No  talking  now,  Mr.  Blakely," 
and  bade  the  others  leave  the  room  and  let  him  get  to  sleep. 
But  tattoo  had  not  sounded  that  still  and  starlit  evening 
when  a  strange  story  was  in  circulation  about  the  post, 
brought  up  from  the  trader's  store  by  pack-train  hands 
who  said  they  were  there  when  Mr.  Blakely  came  in  and 
asked  for  Hart — "  wanted  him  right  away,  bad,"  was  the 
way  they  put  it.  Then  it  transpired  that  Mr.  Blakely  had 
found  no  sport  at  bug-hunting  and  had  fallen  into  a  doze 
while  waiting  for  winged  insects,  and  when  he  woke  it 
was  to  make  a  startling  discovery — his  beautiful  Geneva 
watch  had  disappeared  from  one  pocket  and  a  flat  note 
case,  carried  in  an  inner  breast  pocket  of  his  white  duck 
blouse,  and  containing  about  one  hundred  dollars,  was 
also  gone.  Some  vagrant  soldier,  possibly,  or  some 
"  hard-luck  outfit "  of  prospectors,  probably,  had  come 
upon  him  sleeping,  and  had  made  way  with  his  few 
valuables.  Two  soldiers  had  been  down  stream,  fishing 
for  what  they  called  Tonto  trout,  but  they  were  looked  up 
instantly  and  proved  to  be  men  above  suspicion.  Two 
prospectors  had  been  at  Hart's,  nooning,  and  had  ridden 
off  down  stream  toward  three  o'clock  There  was  a  clew 
worth  following,  and  certain  hangers-on  about  the  trad 
er's,  "  layin'  fer  a  job,"  had  casually  hinted  at  the  prospect 
of  a  game  down  at  Snicker's — a  ranch,  five  miles  below. 
Here,  too,  was  something  worth  investigating.  If  Blakely 
had  been  robbed,  as  now  seemed  more  than  likely,  Camp 


MOCCASIN  TRACKS  39 

Sandy  felt  that  the  perpetrator  must  still  be  close  at  hand 
and  of  the  packer  or  prospector  class. 

But  before  the  ranks  were  broken,  after  the  roll-call, 
then  invariably  held  at  half-past  nine,  Hart  came  driving 
back  in  a  buckboard,  with  a  lantern  and  a  passenger,  the 
latter  one  of  the  keenest  trailers  among  the  sergeants  of 
Captain  Sanders'  troop,  and  Sanders  was  with  the  major 
as  the  man  sprang  from  the  wagon  and  stood  at  salute. 

"  Found  anything,  sergeant?  "  asked  Plume. 

"  Not  a  boot  track,  sir,  but  the  lieutenant's  own." 

"  No  tracks  at  all — in  that  soft  sand !  "  exclaimed  the 
major,  disappointed  and  unbelieving.  His  wife  had 
come  slowly  forward  from  within  doors,  and,  bending 
slightly  toward  them,  stood  listening. 

"  No  boot  tracks,  sir.  There's  others  though — Tonto 
moccasins ! " 

Plume  stood  bewildered.  "  By  Jove !  I  never  thought 
of  that !  "  said  he,  turning  presently  on  his  second  troop 
commander.  "  But  who  ever  heard  of  Apaches  taking 
a  man's  watch  and  leaving — him  ?  " 

"  If  the  major  will  look,"  said  the  sergeant,  quietly  pro 
ducing  a  scouting  notebook  such  as  was  then  issued  by 
the  engineer  department,  "  I  measured  'em  and  made 
rough  copies  here.  There  was  two,  sir.  Both  came, 
both  went,  by  the  path  through  the  willows  up  stream. 
We  didn't  have  time  to  follow.  One  is  longer  and  slimmer 
than  the  other.  If  I  may  make  so  bold,  sir,  I'd  have  a 
guard  down  there  to-night  to  keep  people  away ;  otherwise 
the  tracks  may  be  spoiled  before  morning." 


40  AN  APACHE  PRINCESS 

"  Take  three  men  and  go  yourself,"  said  the  major 
promptly.  "  See  anything  of  any  of  the  lieutenant's  prop 
erty?  Mr.  Hart  told  you,  didn't  he?"  Plume  was 
studying  the  sergeant's  pencil  sketches,  by  the  light  of 
the  trader's  lantern,  as  he  spoke,  a  curious,  puzzled  look 
on  his  soldierly  face. 

"  Saw  where  the  box  had  lain  in  the  sand,  sir,  but  no 
trace  of  the  net,"  and  Sergeant  Shannon  was  thinking  less 
of  these  matters  than  of  his  sketches.  There  was  some 
thing  he  thought  the  major  ought  to  see,  and  presently 
he  saw. 

"  Why,  sergeant,  these  may  be  Tonto  moccasin  tracks, 
but  not  grown  men's.  They  are  mere  boys,  aren't  they?  " 

"  Mere  girls,  sir." 

There  was  a  sound  of  rustling  skirts  upon  the  bare 
piazza.  Plume  glanced  impatiently  over  his  shoulder. 
Mrs.  Plume  had  vanished  into  the  unlighted  hallway. 

"  That  would  account  for  their  taking  the  net,"  said  he 
thoughtfully,  "  but  what  on  earth  would  the  guileless 
Tonto  maiden  do  with  a  watch  or  with  greenbacks? 
They  wouldn't  dare  show  with  them  at  the  agency !  How 
far  did  you  follow  the  tracks  ?  " 

"  Only  a  rod  or  two.  Once  in  the  willows  they  can't 
well  quit  them  till  they  reach  the  shallows  above  the  pool, 
sir.  We  can  guard  there  to-night  and  begin  trailing  at 
dawn." 

"  So  be  it  then !  "  and  presently  the  conference  closed. 

Seated  on  the  adjoining  gallery,  alone  and  in  darkness, 
stricken  and  sorrowing,  a  woman  had  been  silently  ob- 


MOCCASIN  TRACKS  41 

servant  of  the  meeting,  and  had  heard  occasional  snatches 
of  the  talk.  Presently  she  rose ;  softly  entered  the  house 
and  listened  at  a  closed  door  on  the  northward  side — 
Captain  Wren's  own  room.  An  hour  previous,  tortured 
between  his  own  thoughts  and  her  well-meant,  but  unwel 
come  efforts  to  cheer  him,  he  had  begged  to  be  left  alone, 
and  had  closed  his  door  against  all  comers. 

Now,  she  as  softly  ascended  the  narrow  stairway  and 
paused  for  a  moment  at  another  door,  also  closed.  Lis-« 
tening  a  while,  she  knocked,  timidly,  hesitatingly,  but  no 
answer  came.  After  a  while,  noiselessly,  she  turned  the 
knob  and  entered. 

A  dim  light  was  burning  on  a  little  table  by  the  white 
bedside.  A  long,  slim  figure,  white-robed  and  in  all  the 
abandon  of  girlish  grief,  was  lying,  face  downward,  on 
the  bed.  Tangled  masses  of  hair  concealed  much  of  the 
neck  and  shoulders,  but,  bending  over,  Miss  Wren  could 
partially  see  the  flushed  and  tear-wet  cheek  pillowed  on 
one  slender  white  arm.  Exhausted  by  long  weeping, 
Angela  at  last  had  dropped  to  sleep,  but  the  little  hand 
that  peeped  from  under  the  thick,  tumbling  tresses  still 
clung  to  an  odd  and  unfamiliar  object — something  the 
older  woman  had  seen  only  at  a  distance  before — some 
thing  she  gazed  at  in  startled  fascination  this  strange  and 
solemn  night — a  slender,  long-handled  butterfly  net  of 
filmy  gauze. 


CHAPTER  iv 

A    STRICKEN    SENTRY 

SENTRY  duty  at  Camp  Sandy  along  in  '75  had  not 
been  allowed  to  bear  too  heavily  on  its  little  gar 
rison.  There  was  nothing  worth  stealing  about 
the  place,  said  Plume,  and  no  pawn-shop  handy.  Of 
course  there  were  government  horses  and  mules,  food  and 
forage,  arms  and  ammunition,  but  these  were  the  days  of 
soldier  supremacy  in  that  arid  and  distant  land,  and  sol 
diers  had  a  summary  way  of  settling  with  marauders  that 
was  discouraging  to  enterprise.  Larceny  was  therefore 
little  known  until  the  law,  with  its  delays  and  circum 
ventions,  took  root  in  the  virgin  soil,  and  people  at  such 
posts  as  Sandy  seldom  shut  and  rarely  locked  their  doors, 
even  by  night.  Windows  were  closed  and  blanketed  by 
day  against  the  blazing  sun  and  torrid  heat,  but,  soon  after 
nightfall,  every  door  and  window  was  usually  opened 
wide  and  often  kept  so  all  the  night  long,  in  order  that 
the  cooler  air,  settling  down  from  mesa  and  mountain, 
might  drift  through  every  room  and  hallway,  licking  up 
the  starting  dew  upon  the  smooth,  rounded  surface  of  the 
huge  alias,  the  porous  water  jars  that  hung  suspended  on 
every  porch,  and  wafting  comfort  to  the  heated  brows  of 
the  lightly  covered  sleepers  within.  Pyjamas  were  then 
unknown  in  army  circles,  else  even  the  single  sheet  that 


A  STRICKEN  SENTRY  43 

covered  the  drowsing  soldier  might  have  been  dispensed 
with. 

Among  the  quarters  occupied  by  married  men,  both  in 
officers'  row  and  Sudsville  under  the  plateau,  doors  were 
of  little  account  in  a  community  where  the  only  intruder 
to  be  feared  was  heat,  and  so  it  had  resulted  that  while 
the  corrals,  stables,  and  storehouses  had  their  guards,  only 
a  single  sentry  paced  the  long  length  of  the  eastward 
side  of  the  post,  a  single  pair  of  eyes  and  a  single  rifle 
barrel  being  deemed  amply  sufficient  to  protect  against 
possible  prowlers  the  rear  yards  and  entrances  of  the 
row.  The  westward  front  of  the  officers'  homes  stood 
in  plain  view,  on  bright  nights  at  least,  of  the  sentry  at 
the  guard-house,  and  needed  no  other  protector.  On 
dark  nights  it  was  supposed  to  look  out  for  itself. 

A  lonely  time  of  it,  as  a  rule,  had  No.  5,  the  "back 
yard  sentry,"  but  this  October  night  he  lacked  not  for 
sensation.  Lights  burned  until  very  late  in  many  of  the 
quarters,  while  at  Captain  Wren's  and  Lieutenant 
Blakely's  people  were  up  and  moving  about  until  long 
after  midnight.  Of  course  No.  5  had  heard  all  about 
the  dreadful  affair  of  the  early  evening.  What  he  and 
his  fellows  puzzled  over  was  the  probable  cause  of  Cap 
tain  Wren's  furious  assault  upon  his  subaltern.  Many  a 
theory  was  afloat,  Duane,  with  unlooked-for  discretion, 
having  held  his  tongue  as  to  the  brief  conversation  that 
preceded  the  blow.  It  was  after  eleven  when  the  doctor 
paid  his  last  visit  for  the  night,  and  the  attendant  came 
out  on  the  rear  porch  for  a  pitcher  of  cool  water  from  the 


44  AN  APACHE  PRINCESS 

olla.  It  was  long  after  twelve  when  the  light  in  the  up 
stairs  room  at  Captain  Wren's  was  turned  low,  and  for 
two  hours  thereafter,  with  bowed  head,  the  captain  him 
self  paced  nervously  up  and  down,  wearing  in  the  soft 
and  sandy  soil  a  mournful  pathway  parallel  with  his  back 
porch.  It  was  after  three,  noted  Private  Mullins,  of  that 
first  relief,  when  from  the  rear  door  of  the  major's  quar 
ters  there  emerged  two  forms  in  feminine  garb,  and,  there 
being  no  hindering  fences,  away  they  hastened  in  the 
dim  starlight,  past  Wren's,  Cutler's,  Westervelt's,  and 
Truman's  quarters  until  they  were  swallowed  up  in  the 
general  gloom  about  Lieutenant  Blakely's.  Private 
Mullins  could  not  say  for  certain  whether  they  had  entered 
the  rear  door  or  gone  around  under  the  deep  shadows  of 
the  veranda.  When  next  he  saw  them,  fifteen  minutes 
later,  coming  as  swiftly  and  silently  back,  Mullins  was 
wondering  whether  he  ought  not  to  challenge  and  have 
them  account  for  themselves.  His  orders  were  to  allow 
inmates  of  the  officers'  quarters  to  pass  in  or  out  at  night 
without  challenge,  provided  he  "  recognized  them  to  be 
such."  Now,  Mullins  felt  morally  certain  that  these  two 
were  Mrs.  Plume  and  Mrs.  Plume's  vivacious  maid,  a 
French-Canadian  damsel,  much  admired  and  sought  in 
soldier  circles  at  the  post,  but  Mullins  had  not  seen  their 
faces  and  could  rightfully  insist  it  was  his  duty  and  pre 
rogative  to  do  so.  The  question  was,  how  would  the 
"  commanding  officer's  lady  "  like  and  take  it  ?  Mullins 
therefore  shook  his  head.  "  I  hadn't  the  nerve,"  as  he 
expressed  it,  long  afterwards.  But  no  such  frailty 


A  STRICKEN  SENTRY  45 

oppressed  the  occupant  of  the  adjoining  house.  Just  as 
the  two  had  reached  the  rear  of  Wren's  quarters,  and  were 
barely  fifty  steps  from  safety,  the  captain  himself,  issuing 
again  from  the  doorway,  suddenly  appeared  upon  the 
scene,  and  in  low,  but  imperative  tone  accosted  them. 
"  Who  are  you  ?  "  said  he,  bending  eagerly,  sternly  over 
them.  One  quick  look  he  gave,  and,  almost  instantly  re 
coiling,  exclaimed  "  Mrs.  Plume !  I  beg "  Then,  as 

though  with  sudden  recollection,  "  No,  madam,  I  do  not 
beg  your  pardon,"  and,  turning  on  his  heel,  abruptly  left 
them.  Without  a  word,  but  with  the  arm  of  the  maid 
supporting,  the  taller  woman  sped  swiftly  across  the  nar 
row  intervening  space  and  was  lost  again  within  the 
shadows  of  her  husband's  home. 

Private  Mullins,  silent  and  probably  unseen  witness  of 
this  episode,  slowly  tossed  his  rifle  from  the  port  to  the 
shoulder ;  shook  his  puzzled  head ;  stared  a  moment  at  the 
dim  figure  of  Captain  Wren  again  in  the  starlit  morning, 
nervously  tramping  up  and  down  his  narrow  limit;  then 
mechanically  sauntered  down  the  roadway,  pondering 
much  over  what  he  had  seen  and  heard  during  the  brief 
period  of  his  early  morning  watch.  Reaching  the  south, 
the  lower,  end  of  his  post,  he  turned  again.  He  had  but 
ten  minutes  left  of  his  two-hour  tramp.  The  second,  re 
lief  was  due  to  start  at  3.30,  and  should  reach  him  at  3.35. 
He  was  wondering  would  the  officer  of  the  day  "  come 
nosin'  round  "  within  that  time,  asking  him  his  orders, 
and  was  everything  all  right  on  his  post?  And  had  he 
observed  anything  unusual?  There  was  Captain  Wren, 


46  AN  APACHE  PRINCESS 

like  a  caged  tiger,  tramping  up  and  down  behind  his  quar 
ters.  At  least  he  had  been,  for  now  he  had  disappeared. 
There  were,  or  rather  had  been,  the  two  ladies  in  long 
cloaks  flitting  in  the  shadows  from  the  major's  quarters  to 
those  of  the  invalid  lieutenant.  Mullins  certainly  did  not 
wish  to  speak  about  them  to  any  official  visitor,  whatever 
he  might  whisper  later  to  Norah  Shaughnessy,  the  saddler 
sergeant's  daughter — Norah,  who  was  nurse  girl  at  the 
Trumans',  and  knew  all  the  ins  and  outs  of  social  life  at 
Sandy — Norah,  at  whose  window,  under  the  north  gable, 
he  gazed  with  love  in  his  eyes  as  he  made  his  every  round. 
He  was  a  good  soldier,  was  Mullins,  but  glad  this  night 
to  get  off  post.  Through  the  gap  between  the  second 
and  third  quarters  he  saw  the  lights  at  the  guard-house 
and  could  faintly  see  the  black  silhouette  of  armed  men  in 
front  of  them.  The  relief  was  forming  sharp  on  time, 
and  presently  Corporal  Donovan  would  be  bringing 
Trooper  Schultz,  of  "  C "  Troop,  straight  across  the 
parade  in  search  of  him.  The  major  so  allowed  his 
sentry  on  No.  5  to  be  relieved  at  night.  Mullins  thanked 
the  saints  with  pious  fervor  that  no  more  ladies  would  be 
like  to  flit  across  his  vision,  that  night  at  least,  when,  dimly 
through  the  dusk,  against  the  spangled  northern  sky,  he 
sighted  another  figure  crouching  across  the  upper  end  of 
his  post  and  making  straight  for  the  lighted  entrance  at 
the  rear  of  the  lieutenant's  quarters.  Someone  else,  then, 
had  interest  at  Blakely's — someone  coming  stealthily 
from  without.  A  minute  later  certain  wakeful  ears  were 
startled  by  a  moaning  cry  for  aid. 


A  STRICKEN  SENTRY  47 

Just  what  happened,  and  how  it  happened,  within  the 
minute,  led  to  conflicting  stories  on  the  morrow.  First 
man  examined  by  Major  Plume  was  Lieutenant  Truman 
of  the  Infantry,  who  happened  to  be  officer  of  the  day. 
He  had  been  over  at  Blakely's  about  midnight,  he  said; 
had  found  the  patient  sleeping  under  the  influence  of 
soothing  medicine,  and,  after  a  whispered  word  with  Todd, 
the  hospital  attendant,  had  tiptoed  out  again,  encounter 
ing  Downs,  the  lieutenant's  striker,  in  the  darkness  on  the 
rear  porch.  Downs  said  he  was  that  excited  he  couldn't 
sleep  at  all,  and  Mr.  Truman  had  come  to  the  conclusion 
that  Downs's  excitement  was  due,  in  large  part,  to  local 
influences  totally  disconnected  with  the  affairs  of  the  early 
evening.  Downs  was  an  Irishman  who  loved  the 
"  craytur,"  and  had  been  known  to  resort  to  uncon 
ventional  methods  of  getting  it.  At  twelve  o'clock,  said 
Mr.  Truman,  the  striker  had  obviously  been  priming. 
Now  Plume's  standing  orders  were  that  no  liquor  should 
be  sold  to  Downs  at  the  store  and  none  to  other  soldiers 
except  in  "  pony  "  glasses  and  for  use  on  the  spot.  None 
could  be  carried  away  unconsumed.  The  only  legitimate 
spirits,  therefore,  to  which  Downs  could  have  access  were 
those  in  Blakely's  locked  closet — spirits  hitherto  used  only 
in  the  preservation  of  specimens,  and  though  probably  not 
much  worse  than  the  whisky  sold  at  the  store,  dis 
dainfully  referred  to  by  votaries  as  "  Blakely's  bug  juice." 
Mr.  Truman,  therefore,  demanded  of  Downs  the  posses 
sion  of  the  lieutenant's  keys,  and,  with  aggrieved  dignity 
of  mien,  Downs  had  referred  him  to  the  doctor,  whose 


48  AN  APACHE  PRINCESS 

suspicions  had  been  earlier  aroused.  Intending  to  visit 
his  sentries  after  the  change  of  guard  at  1.30,  Truman 
had  thrown  himself  into  a  reclining  chair  in  his  little  par 
lor,  while  Mrs.  Truman  and  the  little  Trumans  slumbered 
peacefully  aloft.  After  reading  an  hour  or  so  the  lieu 
tenant  fell  into  a  doze  from  which  he  awoke  with  a  start. 
Mrs.  Truman  was  bending  over  him.  Mrs.  Truman  had 
been  aroused  by  hearing  voices  in  cautious,  yet  excited, 
colloquy  in  the  shadows  of  Blakely's  back  porch.  She 
felt  sure  that  Downs  was  one  and  thought  from  the  sound 
that  he  must  be  intoxicated,  so  Truman  shuffled  out  to 
see,  and  somebody,  bending  double  in  the  dusk,  scurried 
away  at  his  approach.  He  heard  rather  than  saw.  But 
there  was  Downs,  at  least,  slinking  back  into  the  house, 
and  him  Truman  halted  and  accosted.  "  Who  was  that 
with  you  ?  "  he  asked,  and  Downs  thickly  swore  he  hadn't 
seen  a  soul.  But  all  the  while  Downs  was  clumsily  stuf 
fing  something  into  a  side  pocket,  and  Truman,  seizing 
his  hand,  dragged  it  forth  into  the  light.  It  was  one  of 
the  hospital  six-ounce  bottles,  bearing  a  label  indicative 
of  glycerine  lotion,  but  the  color  of  the  contained  fluid 
belied  the  label.  A  sniff  was  sufficient.  "  Who  gave  you 
this  whisky  ? "  was  the  next  demand,  and  Downs  de 
clared  'twas  a  hospital  "  messager  "  that  brought  it  over, 
thinking  the  lieutenant  might  need  it.  Truman,  filled 
with  wrath,  had  dragged  Downs  into  the  dimly  lighted 
room  to  the  rear  of  that  in  which  lay  Lieutenant  Blakely, 
and  was  there  upbraiding  and  investigating  when  startled 
by  the  stifled  cry  that,  rising  suddenly  on  the  night  from 


A  STRICKEN  SENTRY  49 

the  open  mesa  just  without,  had  so  alarmed  so  many  in 
the  garrison.  Of  what  had  led  to  it  he  had  then  no  more 
idea  than  the  dead. 

Corporal  Donovan,  next  examined,  said  he  was  march 
ing  Schultz  over  to  relieve  Mullins  on  No.  5,  just  after 
half-past  three,  and  heading  for  the  short  cut  between  the 
quarters  of  Captains  Wren  and  Cutler,  which  was  about 
where  No.  5  generally  met  the  relief,  when,  just  as  they 
were  halfway  between  the  flagstaff  and  the  row,  Schultz 
began  to  limp  and  said  there  must  be  a  pebble  in  his  boot. 
So  they  halted.  Schultz  kicked  off  his  boot  and  shook 
it  upside  down,  and,  while  he  was  tugging  at  it  again, 
they  both  heard  a  sort  of  gurgling,  gasping  cry  out  on  the 
mesa.  Of  course  Donovan  started  and  ran  that  way, 
leaving  Schultz  to  follow,  and,  just  back  of  Captain 
Westervelt's,  the  third  house  from  the  northward  end, 
he  almost  collided  with  Lieutenant  Truman,  officer  of  the 
day,  who  ordered  him  to  run  for  Dr.  Graham  and  fetch 
him  up  to  Lieutenant  Blakely's  quick.  So  of  what  had 
taken  place  he,  too,  was  ignorant  until  later. 

It  was  the  hospital  attendant,  Todd,  whose  story  came 
next  and  brought  Plume  to  his  feet  with  consternation  in 
his  eyes.  Todd  said  he  had  been  sitting  at  the  lieu 
tenant's  bedside  when,  somewhere  about  three  o'clock,  he 
had  to  go  out  and  tell  Downs  to  make  less  noise.  Downs 
was  completely  upset  by  the  catastrophe  to  his  officer  and, 
somehow,  had  got  a  few  comforting  drinks  stowed  away, 
and  these  had  started  him  to  singing  some  confounded 
Irish  keen  that  grated  on  Todd's  nerves.  He  was  afraid 


50  AN  APACHE  PRINCESS 

it  would  disturb  the  patient  and  he  was  about  to  go  out 
and  remonstrate  when  the  singing  stopped  and  presently 
he  heard  Downs's  voice  in  excited  conversation.  Then  a 
woman's  voice  in  low,  urgent,  persuasive  whisper  be 
came  faintly  audible,  and  this  surprised  Todd  beyond  ex 
pression.  He  had  thought  to  go  and  take  a  look  and  see 
who  it  could  be,  when  there  was  a  sudden  swish  of  skirts 
and  scurry  of  feet,  and  then  Mr.  Truman's  voice  was 
heard.  Then  there  was  some  kind  of  sharp  talk  from  the 
lieutenant  to  Downs,  and  then,  in  a  sort  of  a  lull,  there 
came  that  uncanny  cry  out  on  the  mesa,  and,  stopping 
only  long  enough  to  see  that  the  lieutenant  was  not  roused 
or  disturbed,  Todd  hastened  forth.  One  or  two  dim 
figures,  dark  and  shadowy,  were  just  visible  on  the  east 
ward  mesa,  barely  ten  paces  away,  and  thither  the  at 
tendant  ran.  Downs,  lurching  heavily,  was  just  ahead 
of  him.  Together  they  came  upon  a  little  group.  Some 
body  went  running  southward — Lieutenant  Truman,  as 
Todd  learned  later — hurrying  for  the  doctor.  A  soldier 
equipped  as  a  sentry  lay  moaning  on  the  sand,  clasping  a 
bloody  hand  to  his  side,  and  over  him,  stern,  silent,  but 
agitated,  bent  Captain  Wren. 


CHAPTER  V 
THE  CAPTAIN'S  DEFIANCE 

WITHIN  ten  minutes  of  Todd's  arrival  at  the 
spot  the  soft  sands  of  the  mesa  were  tramped 
into  bewildering  confusion  by  dozens  of 
trooper  boots.  The  muffled  sound  of  excited  voices,  so 
soon  after  the  startling  affair  of  the  earlier  evening,  and 
hurrying  footfalls  following,  had  roused  almost  every 
household  along  the  row  and  brought  to  the  spot  half  the 
officers  on  duty  at  the  post.  A  patrol  of  the  guard  had 
come  in  double  time,  and  soldiers  had  been  sent  at  speed 
to  the  hospital  for  a  stretcher.  Dr.  Graham  had  lost  no 
moment  of  time  in  reaching  the  stricken  sentry.  Todd 
had  been  sent  back  to  Blakely's  bedside  and  Downs  to 
fetch  a  lantern.  They  found  the  latter,  five  minutes  later, 
stumbling  about  the  Trumans'  kitchen,  weeping  for  that 
which  was  lost,  and  the  sergeant  of  the  guard  collared 
and  cuffed  him  over  to  the  guard-house — one  witness,  at 
least,  out  of  the  way.  At  four  o'clock  the  doctor  was 
working  over  his  exhausted  and  unconscious  patient  at 
the  hospital.  Mullins  had  been  stabbed  twice,  and  dan 
gerously,  and  half  a  dozen  men  with  lanterns  were  hunt 
ing  about  the  bloody  sands  where  the  faithful  fellow  had 
dropped,  looking  for  a  weapon  or  a  clew,  and  probably 
trampling  out  all  possibility  of  finding  either.  Major 

51 


52  AN  APACHE  PRINCESS 

Plume,  through  Mr.  Doty,  his  adjutant,  had  felt  it  neces 
sary  to  remind  Captain  Wren  that  an  officer  in  close  arrest 
had  no  right  to  be  away  from  his  quarters.  Late  in  the 
evening,  it  seems,  Dr.  Graham  had  represented  to  the 
post  commander  that  the  captain  was  in  so  nervous  and 
overwrought  a  condition,  and  so  distressed,  that  as  a  phy 
sician  he  recommended  his  patient  be  allowed  the  limits 
of  the  space  adjoining  his  quarters  in  which  to  walk  off 
his  superabundant  excitement.  Graham  had  long  been 
the  friend  of  Captain  Wren  and  was  his  friend  as  well  as 
physician  now,  even  though  deploring  his  astounding  out 
break,  but  Graham  had  other  things  to  demand  his  atten 
tion  as  night  wore  on,  and  there  was  no  one  to  speak  for 
Wren  when  the  young  adjutant,  a  subaltern  of  infantry, 
with  unnecessary  significance  of  tone  and  manner,  sug 
gested  the  captain's  immediate  return  to  his  proper  quar 
ters.  Wren  bowed  his  head  and  went  in  stunned  and 
stubborn  silence.  It  had  never  occurred  to  him  for  a  mo 
ment,  when  he  heard  that  half-stifled,  agonized  cry  for 
help,  that  there  could  be  the  faintest  criticism  of  his  rush 
ing  to  the  sentry's  aid.  Still  less  had  it  occurred  to  him 
that  other  significance,  and  damning  significance,  might 
attach  to  his  presence  on  the  spot,  but,  being  first  to  reach 
the  fallen  man,  he  was  found  kneeling  over  him  within 
thirty  seconds  of  the  alarm.  Not  another  living  creature 
was  in  sight  when  the  first  witnesses  came  running 
to  the  spot.  Both  Truman  and  Todd  could  swear  to 
that. 

In  the  morning,  therefore,  the  orderly  came  with  the 


THE  CAPTAIN'S  DEFIANCE  63 

customary  compliments  to  say  to  Captain  Wren  that  the 
post  commander  desired  to  see  him  at  the  office. 

It  was  then  nearly  nine  o'clock.  Wren  had  had  a  sleep 
less  night  and  was  in  consultation  with  Dr.  Graham  when 
the  summons  came.  "  Ask  that  Captain  Sanders  be  sent 
for  at  once,"  said  the  surgeon,  as  he  pressed  his  com 
rade  patient's  hand.  "  The  major  has  his  adjutant  and 
clerk  and  possibly  some  other  officers.  You  should  have 
at  least  one  friend." 

"  I  understand,"  briefly  answered  Wren,  as  he  stepped 
to  the  hallway  to  get  his  sun  hat.  "  I  wish  it  might  be 
you."  The  orderly  was  already  speeding  back  to  the  office 
at  the  south  end  of  the  brown  rectangle  of  adobe  and 
painted  pine,  but  Janet  Wren,  ministering,  according  to 
her  lights,  to  Angela  in  the  little  room  aloft,  had  heard 
the  message  and  was  coming  down.  Taller  and  more 
angular  than  ever  she  looked  as,  with  flowing  gown,  she 
slowly  descended  the  narrow  stairway. 

"  I  have  just  succeeded  in  getting  her  to  sleep,"  she 
murmured.  "  She  has  been  dreadfully  agitated  ever 
since  awakened  by  the  voices  and  the  running  this  morn 
ing,  and  she  must  have  cried  herself  to  sleep  last  night. 
R-r-r-obert,  would  it  not  be  well  for  you  to  see  her  when 
she  wakes?  She  does  not  know — I  could  not  tell  her — 
that  you  are  under  arrest." 

Graham  looked  more  "  dour  "  than  did  his  friend  of 
the  line.  Privately  he  was  wondering  how  poor  Angela 
could  get  to  sleep  at  all  with  Aunt  Janet  there  to  soothe 
her.  The  worst  time  to  teach  a  moral  lesson,  with  any 


54  AN  APACHE  PRINCESS 

hope  of  good  effect,  is  when  the  recipient  is  suffering 
from  sense  of  utter  injustice  and  wrong,  yet  must  per 
force  listen.  But  it  is  a  favorite  occasion  with  the  "  ower 
guid."  Janet  thought  it  would  be  a  long  step  in  the  right 
direction  to  bring  her  headstrong  niece  to  the  belief  that 
all  the  trouble  was  the  direct  result  of  her  having  sought, 
against  her  father's  wishes,  a  meeting  with  Mr.  Blakely. 
True,  Janet  had  now  some  doubt  that  such  had  been  the 
case,  but,  in  what  she  felt  was  only  stubborn  pride,  her 
niece  refused  all  explanation.  "  Father  would  not  hear 
me  at  the  time,"  she  sobbed.  "  I  am  condemned  without 
a  chance  to  defend  myself  or — him."  Yet  Janet  loved  the 
bonny  child  devotedly  and  would  go  through  fire  and 
water  to  serve  her  best  interests,  only  those  best  interests 
must  be  as  Janet  saw  them.  That  anything  very  serious 
might  result  as  a  consequence  of  her  brother's  violent 
assault  on  Blakely,  she  had  never  yet  imagined.  That 
further  complications-  had  arisen  which  might  blacken  his 
record  she  never  could  credit  for  a  moment.  Mullins  lay 
still  unconscious,  and  not  until  he  recovered  strength  was 
he  to  talk  with  or  see  anyone.  Graham  had  given  faint 
hope  of  recovery,  and  declared  that  everything  depended 
on  his  patient's  having  no  serious  fever  or  setback.  In  a 
few  days  he  might  be  able  to  tell  his  story.  Then  the 
mystery  as  to  his  assailant  would  be  cleared  in  a  breath. 
Janet  had  taken  deep  offense  that  the  commanding  officer 
should  have  sent  her  brother  into  close  arrest  without  first 
hearing  of  the  extreme  provocation.  "  It  is  an  utterly 
unheard-of  proceeding,"  said  she,  "  this  confining  of  an 


THE  CAPTAIN'S  DEFIANCE  55 

officer  and  gentleman  without  investigation  of  the  affair," 
and  she  glared  at  Graham,  uncomprehending,  when,  with 
impatient  shrug  of  his  big  shoulders,  he  asked  her  what 
had  they  done,  between  them,  to  Angela.  It  was  his  wife 
put  him  up  to  saying  that,  she  reasoned,  for  Janet's  Cal- 
vinistic  dogmas  as  to  daughters  in  their  teens  were  ever 
at  variance  with  the  views  of  her  gentle  neighbor.  If 
Angela  had  been  harshly  dealt  with,  undeserving,  it  was 
Angela's  duty  to  say  so  and  to  say  why,  said  Janet. 
Meantime,  her  first  care  was  her  wronged  and  misjudged 
brother.  Gladly  would  she  have  gone  to  the  office  with 
him  and  stood  proudly  by  his  side  in  presence  of  his 
oppressor,  could  such  a  thing  be  permitted.  She  marveled 
that  Robert  should  now  show  so  little  of  tenderness  for 
her  who  had  served  him  loyally,  if  masterfully,  so  very 
long.  He  merely  laid  his  hand  on  hers  and  said  he  had 
been  summoned  to  the  commanding  officer's,  then  went 
forth  into  the  light  and  left  her. 

Major  Plume  was  seated  at  his  desk,  thoughtful  and 
perplexed.  Up  at  regimental  headquarters  at  Prescott 
Wren  was  held  in  high  esteem,  and  the  major's  brief  tele 
graphic  message  had  called  forth  anxious  inquiry  and 
something  akin  to  veiled  disapprobation.  Headquarters 
could  not  see  how  it  was  possible  for  Wren  to  assault 
Lieutenant  Blakely  without  some  grave  reason.  Had 
Plume  investigated?  No,  but  that  was  coming  now,  he 
said  to  himself,  as  Wren  entered  and  stood  in  silence  be 
fore  him. 

.The  little  office  had  barely  room  for  the  desks  of  the 


66  AN  APACHE  PRINCESS 

commander  and  his  adjutant  and  the  table  on  which  were 
spread  the  files  of  general  orders  from  various  superior 
headquarters — regimental,  department,  division,  the  army, 
and  the  War  Secretary.  No  curtains  adorned  the  little 
windows,  front  and  rear.  No  rug  or  carpet  vexed  the 
warping  floor.  Three  chairs,  kitchen  pattern,  stood 
against  the  pine  partition  that  shut  off  the  sight,  but  by  no 
means  the  hearing,  of  the  three  clerks  scratching  at  their 
flat-topped  desks  in  the  adjoining  den.  Maps  of  tho 
United  States,  of  the  Military  Division  of  the  Pacific,  and 
of  the  Territory,  as  far  as  known  and  surveyed,  hung 
about  the  wooden  walls.  Blue-prints  and  photographs  of 
scout  maps,  made  by  their  predecessors  of  the  — th  Cav 
alry  in  the  days  of  the  Crook  campaigns,  were  scattered 
with  the  order  files  about  the  table.  But  of  pictures,  orna 
mentation,  or  relief  of  any  kind  the  gloomy  box  was  desti 
tute  as  the  dun-colored  flat  of  the  parade.  Official  severity 
spoke  in  every  feature  of  the  forbidding  office  as  well  as 
in  those  of  the  major  commanding. 

There  was  striking  contrast,  too,  between  the  man  at 
the  desk  and  the  man  on  the  rack  before  him.  Plume  had 
led  a  life  devoid  of  anxiety  or  care.  Soldiering  he  took 
serenely.  He  liked  it,  so  long  as  no  grave  hardship 
threatened.  He  had  done  reasonably  good  service  at 
corps  headquarters  during  the  Civil  War ;  had  been  com 
missioned  captain  in  the  regulars  in  '61,  and  held  no  vex 
atious  command  at  any  time  perhaps,  until  this  that  took 
him  to  far-away  Arizona.  Plume  was  a  gentlemanly 
fellow  and  no  bad  garrison  soldier.  He  really  shone  on 


THE  CAPTAIN'S  DEFIANCE  57 

parade  and  review  at  such  fine  stations  as  Leavenworth 
and  Riley,  but  had  never  had  to  bother  with  mountain 
scouting  or  long-distance  Indian  chasing  on  the  plains. 
He  had  a  comfortable  income  outside  his  pay,  and  when 
he  was  wedded,  at  the  end  of  her  fourth  season  in  society, 
to  a  prominent,  if  just  a  trifle  passce  belle,  people  thought 
him  a  more  than  lucky  man,  until  the  regiment  was  sent 
to  Arizona  and  he  to  Sandy.  Gossip  said  he  went  to 
General  Sherman  with  appeal  for  some  detaining  duty, 
whereupon  that  bluff  and  most  outspoken  warrior  ex 
claimed  :  "  What,  what,  what !  Not  want  to  go  with  the 
regiment?  Why,  here's  Blakely  begging  to  be  relieved 
from  Terry's  staff  because  he's  mad  to  go."  And  this, 
said  certain  St.  Louis  commentators,  settled  it,  for  Mrs. 
Plume  declared  for  Arizona. 

Well  garbed,  groomed,  and  fed  was  Plume,  a  hand 
some,  soldierly  figure.  Very  cool  and  placid  was  his  look 
in  the  spotless  white  that  even  then  by  local  custom  had 
bcome  official  dress  for  Sandy ;  but  beneath  the  snowy 
surface  his  heart  beat  with  grave  disquiet  as  he  studied 
the  strong,  rugged,  somber  face  of  the  soldier  on  the 
floor. 

Wren  was  tall  and  gaunt  and  growing  gray.  His  face 
was  deeply  lined;  his  close-cropped  beard  was  silver- 
stranded;  his  arms  and  legs  were  long  and  sinewy  and 
powerful ;  his  chest  and  shoulders  burly ;  his  regimental 
dress  had  not  the  cut  and  finish  of  the  commander's.  Too 
much  of  bony  wrist  and  hand  was  in  evidence,  too  little 
of  grace  and  curve.  But,  though  he  stood  rigidly  at  at- 


58  AN  APACHE  PRINCESS 

tention,  with  all  semblance  of  respect  and  subordination, 
the  gleam  in  his  deep-set  eyes,  the  twitch  of  the  long  fin 
gers,  told  of  keen  and  pent-up  feeling,  and  he  looked  the 
senior  soldier  squarely  in  the  face.  A  sergeant,  standing 
by  the  adjutant's  desk,  tiptoed  out  into  the  clerk's  room 
and  closed  the  door  behind  him,  then  set  himself  to  listen. 
Young  Doty,  the  adjutant,  fiddled  nervously  with  his  pen 
and  tried  to  go  on  signing  papers,  but  failed.  It  was  for 
Plume  to  break  the  awkward  silence,  and  he  did  not  quite 
know  how.  Captain  Westervelt,  quietly  entering  at  the 
moment,  bowed  to  the  major  and  took  a  chair.  He  had 
evidently  been  sent  for. 

"  Captain  Wren,"  presently  said  Plume,  his  fingers 
trembling  a  bit  as  they  played  with  the  paper  folder,  "  I 
have  felt  constrained  to  send  for  you  to  inquire  still  fur 
ther  into  last  night's  affair — or  affairs.  I  need  not  tell 
you  that  you  may  decline  to  answer  if  you  consider  your 
interests  are — involved.  I  had  hoped  this  painful  matter 
might  be  so  explained  as  to — as  to  obviate  the  necessity 
of  extreme  measures,  but  your  second  appearance  close  to 
Mr.  Blakely's  quarters,  under  all  the  circumstances,  was 
so — so  extraordinary  that  I  am  compelled  to  call  for  ex 
planation,  if  you  have  one  you  care  to  offer." 

For  a  moment  Wren  stood  staring  at  his  commander 
in  amaze.  Pie  had  expected  to  be  offered  opportunity  to 
state  the  circumstances  leading  to  his  now  deeply  de 
plored  attack  on  Mr.  Blakely,  and  to  decline  the  offer  on 
the  ground  that  he  should  have  been  given  that  oppor 
tunity  before  being  submitted  to  the  humiliation  of  arrest. 


THE  CAPTAIN'S  DEFIANCE  69 

He  had  intended  to  refuse  all  overtures,  to  invite  trial  by 
court-martial  or  investigation  by  the  inspector  general, 
but  by  no  manner  of  means  to  plead  for  reconsideration 
now;  and  here  was  the  post  commander,  with  whom  he 
had  never  served  until  they  came  to  Sandy,  a  man  who 
hadn't  begun  to  see  the  service,  the  battles,  and  campaigns 
that  had  fallen  to  his  lot,  virtually  accusing  him  of  fur 
ther  misdemeanor,  when  he  had  only  rushed  to  save  or 
succor.  He  forgot  all  about  Sanders  or  other  witnesses. 
He  burst  forth  impetuously : 

"  Extraordinary,  sir !  It  would  have  been  most  ex 
traordinary  if  I  hadn't  gone  with  all  speed  when  I  heard 
that  cry  for  help." 

Plume  looked  up  in  sudden  joy.  "  You  mean  to  tell 
me  you  didn't — you  weren't  there  till  after — the  cry?  " 

Wren's  stern  Scottish  face  was  a  sight  to  see.  "  Of 
what  can  you  possibly  be  thinking,  Major  Plume?"  he 
demanded,  slowly  now,  for  wrath  was  burning  within 
him,  and  yet  he  strove  for  self-control.  He  had  had  a 
lesson  and  a  sore  one. 

"  I  will  answer  that — a  little  later,  Captain  Wren,"  said 
Plume,  rising  from  his  seat,  rejoicing  in  the  new  light 
now  breaking  upon  him.  Westervelt,  too,  had  gasped  a 
sigh  of  relief.  No  man  had  ever  known  Wren  to  swerve 
a  hair's  breadth  from  the  truth.  "  At  this  moment  time  is 
precious  if  the  real  criminal  is  to  be  caught  at  all.  You 
were  first  to  reach  the  sentry.  Had  you  seen  no  one 
else?" 

In  the  dead  silence  that  ensued  within  the  room  the 


60  AN  APACHE  PRINCESS 

sputter  of  hoofs  without  broke  harshly  on  the  ear.  Then 
came  spurred  boot  heels  on  the  hollow,  heat-dried  board 
ing,  but  not  a  sound  from  the  lips  of  Captain  Wren.  The 
rugged  face,  twitching  with  pent-up  indignation  the  mo 
ment  before,  was  now  slowly  turning  gray.  Plume  stood 
facing  him  in  growing  wonder  and  new  suspicion. 

"  You  heard  me,  did  you  not  ?  I  asked  you  did  you  see 
anyone  else  during — along  the  sentry  post  when  you  went 
out?" 

A  fringed  gauntlet  reached  in  at  the  doorway  and 
tapped.  Sergeant  Shannon,  straight  as  a  pine,  stood  ex 
pectant  of  summons  to  enter  and  his  face  spoke  eloquently 
of  important  tidings,  but  the  major  waved  him  away,  and, 
marveling,  he  slowly  backed  to  the  edge  of  the  porch. 

"  Surely  you  can  answer  that,  Captain  Wren,"  said 
Plume,  his  clear-cut,  handsome  face  filled  with  mingled 
anxiety  and  annoy.  "  Surely  you  should  answer,  or " 

The  ellipsis  was  suggestive,  but  impotent.  After  a 
painful  moment  came  the  response : 

"Or — take  the  consequences,  major?"  Then  slowly 
— "  Very  well,  sir — I  must  take  them." 


CHAPTER  VI 

A   FIND   IN    THE   SANDS 

THE  late  afternoon  of  an  eventful  day  had  come 
to  camp  Sandy — just  such  another  day,  from  a 
meteorological  viewpoint,  as  that  on  which 
this  story  opened  nearly  twenty-four  hours  earlier  by  the 
shadows  on  the  eastward  cliffs.  At  Tuesday's  sunset  the 
garrison  was  yawning  with  the  ennui  born  of  monotonous 
and  uneventful  existence.  As  Wednesday's  sunset  drew 
nigh  and  the  mountain  shadows  overspread  the  valley, 
even  to  the  opposite  crests  of  the  distant  Mogollon,  the 
garrison  was  athrill  with  suppressed  excitement,  for  half 
a  dozen  things  had  happened  since  the  flag  went  up  at 
reveille. 

In  the  first  place  Captain  Wren's  arrest  had  been  con 
firmed  and  Plume  had  wired  department  headquarters,  in 
reply  to  somewhat  urgent  query,  that  there  were  several 
counts  in  his  indictment  of  the  captain,  any  one  of  which 
was  sufficient  to  demand  a  trial  by  court-martial,  but  he 
wished,  did  Plume,  for  personal  and  official  reasons  that 
the  general  commanding  should  send  his  own  inspector 
down  to  judge  for  himself. 

The  post  sergeant  major  and  the  three  clerks  had  heard 
with  sufficient  distinctness  every  word  that  passed  be 
tween  the  major  and  the  accused  captain,  and,  there  being 

61 


62  AN  APACHE  PRINCESS 

at  Sandy  some  three  hundred  inquisitive  souls,  thirsting 
for  truth  and  light,  it  could  hardly  be  expected  of  this 
quartette  that  it  should  preserve  utter  silence  even  though 
silence  had  been  enjoined  by  the  adjutant.  It  was  told  all 
over  the  post  long  before  noon  that  Wren  had  been  vir 
tually  accused  of  being  the  sentry's  assailant  as  well  as 
Lieutenant  Blakely's.  It  was  whispered  that,  in  some 
insane  fury  against  the  junior  officer,  Wren  had  again, 
toward  3.30,  breaking  his  arrest,  gone  up  the  row  with 
the  idea  of  once  more  entering  Blakely's  house  and  pos 
sibly  again  attacking  him.  It  was  believed  that  the  sentry 
had  seen  and  interposed,  and  that,  enraged  at  being 
balked  by  an  enlisted  man,  Wren  had  drawn  a  knife  and 
stabbed  him.  True,  no  knife  had  been  found  anywhere 
about  the  spot,  and  Wren  had  never  been  known  to  carry 
one.  But  now  a  dozen  men,  armed  with  rakes,  were 
systematically  going  over  the  ground  under  the  vigilant 
eye  of  Sergeant  Shannon — Shannon,  who  had  heard  the 
brief,  emphatic  interview  between  the  major  and  the  troop 
commander  and  who  had  been  almost  immediately  sent 
forth  to  supervise  this  search,  despite  the  fact  that  he  had 
but  just  returned  from  the  conduct  of  another,  the  result 
of  which  he  imparted  to  the  ears  of  only  two  men,  Plume, 
the  post  commander,  and  Doty,  his  amazed  and  be 
wildered  adjutant.  But  Shannon  had  with  him  a  trio  of 
troopers,  one  of  whom,  at  least,  had  not  been  proof  against 
inquisitive  probing,  for  the  second  sensation  of  the  day 
was  the  story  that  one  of  the  two  pairs  of  moccasin  traoks, 
among  the  yielding  sands  of  the  willow  copse,  led  from 


A  FIND  IN  THE  SANDS  63 

where  Mr.  Blakely  had  been  dozing  to  where  the  pony 
Punch  had  been  drowsing  in  the  shade,  for  there  they 
were  lost,  as  the  maker  had  evidently  mounted  and  ridden 
away.  All  Sandy  knew  that  Punch  had  no  other  rider 
than  pretty  Angela  Wren. 

A  third  story,  too,  was  whispered  in  half  a  dozen 
homes,  and  was  going  wild  about  the  garrison,  to  the 
effect  that  Captain  Wren,  when  accused  of  being  Mullins's 
assailant,  had  virtually  declared  that  he  had  seen 
other  persons  prowling  on  the  sentry's  post  and  that  they, 
not  he,  were  the  guilty  ones ;  but  when  bidden  to  name  or 
describe  them,  Wren  had  either  failed  or  refused;  some 
said  one,  some  said  the  other,  and  the  prevalent  belief  in 
Sudsville  circles,  as  well  as  in  the  barracks,  was  that  Cap 
tain  Wren  was  going  crazy  over  his  troubles.  And  now 
there  were  women,  ay,  and  men,  too,  though  they  spake 
with  bated  breath,  who  had  uncanny  things  to  say  of 
Angela — the  captain's  only  child. 

And  this  it  was  that  led  to  sensation  No.  4 — a  wordy 
battle  of  the  first  magnitude  between  the  next-door 
neighbor  of  the  saddler  sergeant  and  no  less  a  champion 
of  maiden  probity  than  Norah  Shaughnessy — the  saddler 
sergeant's  buxom  daughter.  All  the  hours  since  early 
morning  Norah  had  been  in  a  state  of  nerves  so  uncon 
trollable  that  Mrs.  Truman — who  knew  of  Norah's 
fondness  for  Mullins  and  marveled  not  that  Mullins 
always  preferred  the  loneliness  and  isolation  of  the  post 
on  No.  5 — decided  toward  noon  to  send  the  girl  home  to 
her  mother  for  a  day  or  so,  and  Norah  thankfully  went,  and 


64  AN  APACHE  PRINCESS 

threw  herself  upon  her  mother's  ample  breast  and  sobbed 
aloud.  It  was  an  hour  before  she  could  control  herself, 
and  her  agitation  was  such  that  others  came  to  minister 
to  her.  Of  course  there  was  just  one  explanation — 
Norah  was  in  love  with  Mullins  and  well-nigh  crazed 
with  grief  over  his  untimely  taking  off,  for  later  reports 
from  the  hospital  were  most  depressing.  This,  at  least, 
was  sufficient  explanation  until  late  in  the  afternoon. 
Then,  restored  to  partial  composure,  the  girl  was  sitting 
up  and  being  fanned  in  the  shade  of  her  father's  roof- 
tree,  when  roused  by  the  voice  of  the  next-door  neighbor 
before  mentioned — Mrs.  Quinn,  long  time  laundress  of 
Captain  Sanders's  troop  and  jealous  as  to  Wren's,  was  tell 
ing  what  she  had  heard  of  Shannon's  discoveries,  opining 
that  both  Captain  Wren  and  the  captain's  daughter  de 
served  investigation.  "  No  wan  need  tell  me  there  was 
others  prowling  about  Mullins's  post  at  three  in  the 

marnin.'  As  for  Angela "  But  here  Miss  Shaugh- 

nessy  bounded  from  the  wooden  settee,  and,  with  amazing 
vim  and  vigor,  sailed  spontaneously  into  Mrs.  Quinn. 

"  No  wan  need  tell  you — ye  say !  No  wan  need  tell 
you,  ye  black-tongued  scandium!  Well,  then,  /  tell  ye 
Captain  Wren  did  see  others  prowlin'  on  poor  Pat  Mul 
lins's  post  an'  others  than  him  saw  them  too.  Go  you  to 
the  meejer,  soon  as  ye  like  and  say  7  saw  them,  and  if 
Captain  Wren  won't  tell  their  names  there's  them  that 
will." 

The  shrill  tones  of  the  infuriated  girl  were  plainly  audi 
ble  all  over  the  flats  whereon  were  huddled  the  little 


A  FIND  IN  THE  SANDS  65 

cabins  of  log  and  adobe  assigned  as  quarters  to  the  few 
married  men  among  the  soldiery.  These  were  the 
halcyon  days  of  the  old  army  when  each  battery,  troop,  or 
company  was  entitled  to  four  laundresses  and  each  laun 
dress  to  one  ration.  Old  and  young,  there  were  at  least 
fifty  pairs  of  ears  within  easy  range  of  the  battle  that 
raged  forthwith,  the  noise  of  which  reached  even  to  the 
shaded  precincts  of  the  trader's  store  three  hundred  yards 
away.  It  was  impossible  that  such  a  flat-footed  state 
ment  as  Norah's  should  not  be  borne  to  the  back  doors  of 
"  The  Row  "  and,  repeated  then  from  lip  to  lip,  should 
soon  be  told  to  certain  of  the  officers.  Sanders  heard  it 
as  he  came  in  from  stable  duty,  and  Dr.  Graham  felt  con 
fident  that  it  had  been  repeated  under  the  major's  roof 
when  at  6  p.  M.  the  post  commander  desired  his  profes 
sional  services  in  behalf  of  Mrs.  Plume,  who  had  become 
unaccountably,  if  not  seriously,  ill. 

Graham  had  but  just  returned  from  a  grave  conference 
with  Wren,  and  his  face  had  little  look  of  the  family  phy 
sician  as  he  reluctantly  obeyed  the  summons.  As  another 
of  the  auld  licht  school  of  Scotch  Presbyterians,  he  also 
had  conceived  deep-rooted  prejudice  to  that  frivolous 
French  aide-de-camp  of  the  major's  wife.  The  girl  did 
dance  and  flirt  and  ogle  to  perfection,  and  half  a  dozen 
strapping  sergeants  were  now  at  sword's  points  all  on  ac 
count  of  this  objectionable  Eliza.  Graham,  of  course,  had 
heard  with  his  ears  and  fathomed  with  his  understanding 
the  first  reports  of  Wren's  now  famous  reply  to  his  com 
manding  officer ;  and  though  Wren  would  admit  no  more 


66  AN  APACHE  PRINCESS 

to  him  than  he  had  to  the  major,  Graham  felt  confident 
that  the  major's  wife  was  one  of  the  mysterious  persons 
seen  by  Wren,  and  declared  by  Norah,  in  the  dim  starlight 
of  the  early  morning,  lurking  along  the  post  of  No. 
5.  Graham  had  no  doubt  that  Elise  was  the  other.  The 
man  most  concerned  in  the  case,  the  major  himself,  was 
perhaps  the  only  one  at  sunset  who  never  seemed  to  sus 
pect  that  Mrs.  Plume  could  have  been  in  any  way  con 
nected  with  the  affair.  He  met  the  doctor  with  a  world 
of  genuine  anxiety  in  his  eyes. 

"  My  wife,"  said  he,  "  is  of  a  highly  sensitive  organi 
zation,  and  she  has  been  completely  upset  by  this  suc 
cession  of  scandalous  affairs.  She  and  Blakely  were 
great  friends  at  St.  Louis  three  years  ago;  indeed, 
many  people  were  kind  enough  to  couple  their  names 
before  our  marriage.  I  wish  you  could — quiet  her," 
and  the  sounds  from  aloft,  where  madame  was  ner 
vously  pacing  her  room,  gave  point  to  the  suggestion. 
Graham  climbed  the  narrow  stairs  and  tapped  at  the 
north  door  on  the  landing.  It  was  opened  by  Elise, 
whose  big,  black  eyes  were  dilated  with  excitement,  while 
Mrs.  Plume,  her  blonde  hair  tumbling  down  her  back, 
her  peignoir  decidedly  rumpled  and  her  general  appear 
ance  disheveled,  was  standing  in  mid-floor,  wringing  her 
jeweled  hands.  "  She  looks  like  sixty,"  was  the  doc 
tor's  inward  remark,  "  and  is  probably  not  twenty-six." 

Her  first  question  jarred  upon  his  rugged  senses. 

"  Dr.  Graham,  when  will  Mr.  Blakely  be  able  to  see — 
or  read?" 


A  FIND  IN  THE  SANDS  67 

"  Not  for  a  day  or  two.  The  stitches  must  heal  before 
the  bandages  can  come  off  his  eyes.  Even  then,  Mrs. 
Plume,  he  should  not  be  disturbed,"  was  the  uncompro 
mising  answer. 

"Is  that  wretch,  Downs,  sober  yet?"  she  demanded, 
standing  and  confronting  him,  her  whole  form  quivering 
with  strong,  half-suppressed  emotion. 

"  The  wretch  is  sobering,"  answered  Graham  gravely. 
"And  now,  madame,  I'll  trouble  you  to  take  a  chair.  Do 
you,"  with  a  glance  of  grim  disfavor,  "  need  this  girl  for 
the  moment?  If  not,  she  might  as  well  retire." 

"  I  need  my  maid,  Dr.  Graham,  and  I  told  Major 
Plume  distinctly  I  did  not  need  you,"  was  the  impulsive 
reply,  as  the  lady  strove  against  the  calm,  masterful  grasp 
he  laid  on  her  wrist. 

"  That's  as  may  be,  Mrs.  Plume.  We're  often  blind  to 
our  best  interests.  Be  seated  a  moment,  then  I'll  let  you 
tramp  the  soles  of  your  feet  off,  if  you  so  desire."  And 
so  he  practically  pulled  her  into  a  chair ;  Elise,  glaring  the 
while,  stood  spitefully  looking  on.  The  antipathy  was 
mutual. 

"  You've  slept  too  little  of  late,  Mrs.  Plume,"  contin 
ued  the  doctor,  lucklessly  hitting  the  mark  with  a  home 
shot  instantly  resented,  for  the  lady  was  on  her  feet  again. 

"  Sleep !  People  do  nothing  but  sleep  in  this  woebe 
gone  hole !  "  she  cried.  "  I've  had  sleep  enough  to  last 
a  lifetime.  What  I  want  is  to  wake— wake  out  of  this 
horrible  nightmare!  Dr.  Graham,  you  are  a  friend  of 
Captain  Wren's.  What  under  heaven  possessed  him, 


68  AN  APACHE  PRINCESS 

with  his  brutal  strength,  to  assault  so  sick  a  man  as  Mr. 
Blakely  ?  What  possible  pretext  could  he  assert  ?  "  And 
again  she  was  straining  at  her  imprisoned  hand  and  seek 
ing  to  free  herself,  Graham  calmly  studying  her  the  while, 
as  he  noted  the  feverish  pulse.  Not  half  an  hour  earlier 
he  had  been  standing  beside  the  sick  bed  of  a  fair  young 
girl,  one  sorely  weighted  now  with  grave  anxieties,  yet 
who  lay  patient  and  uncomplaining,  rarely  speaking  a 
word.  They  had  not  told  the  half  of  the  web  of  accusa 
tion  that  now  enmeshed  her  father's  feet,  but  what  had 
been  revealed  to  her  was  more  than  enough  to  banish 
every  thought  of  self  or  suffering  and  to  fill  her  fond 
heart  with  instant  and  loving  care  for  him.  No  one,  not 
even  Janet,  was  present  during  the  interview  between 
father  and  child  that  followed.  Graham  found  him  later 
locked  in  his  own  room,  reluctant  to  admit  even  him,  and 
lingering  long  before  he  opened  the  door ;  but  even  then 
the  tear-stains  stood  on  his  furrowed  face,  and  the  doctor 
knew  he  had  been  sobbing  his  great  heart  out  over  the 
picture  of  his  child — the  child  he  had  so  harshly  judged 
and  sentenced,  all  unheard.  Graham  had  gone  to  him, 
after  seeing  Angela,  with  censure  on  his  tongue,  but  he 
never  spoke  the  words.  He  saw  there  was  no  longer  need. 

"  Let  the  lassie  lie  still  the  day,"  said  he,  "  with  Kate, 
perhaps,  to  read  to  her.  Your  sister  might  not  choose  a 
cheering  book.  Then  perhaps  we'll  have  her  riding 
Punch  again  to-morrow."  But  Graham  did  not  smile 
when  meeting  Janet  by  the  parlor  door. 

He  was  thinking  of  the  contrast  in  these  two,  his  pa- 


A  FIND  IN  THE  SANDS  69 

tients,  as  with  professional  calm  he  studied  the  troubled 
features  of  the  major's  wife  when  the  voice  of  Sergeant 
Shannon  was  heard  in  the  lower  hall,  inquiring  for  the 
major,  and  in  an  instant  Plume  had  joined  him.  In  that 
instant,  too,  Elise  had  sped,  cat-like,  to  the  door,  and  Mrs. 
Plume  had  followed.  Possibly  for  this  reason  the  major 
led  the  sergeant  forth  upon  the  piazza  and  the  conversa 
tion  took  place  in  tones  inaudible  to  those  within  the 
house ;  but,  in  less  than  a  minute,  the  doctor's  name  was 
called  and  Graham  went  down. 

"  Look  at  this,"  said  Plume.  "  They  raked  it  out  of 
the  sand  close  to  where  Mullins  was  lying."  And  the 
major  held  forth  an  object  that  gleamed  in  the  last  rays 
of  the  slanting  sunshine.  It  was  Blakely's  beautiful 
watch. 


CHAPTER  VII 


THE  dawn  of  another  cloudless  day  was  breaking 
and  the  dim  lights  at  the  guard-house  and  the 
hospital  burned  red  and  bleary  across  the  sandy 
level  of  the  parade.  The  company  cooks  were  already  at 
their  ranges,  and  a  musician  of  the  guard  had  been  sent 
to  rouse  his  fellows  in  the  barracks,  for  the  old-style 
reveille  still  held  good  at  many  a  post  in  Arizona,  before 
the  drum  and  fife  were  almost  entirely  abandoned  in  favor 
of  the  harsher  bugle,  by  the  infantry  of  our  scattered  little 
army.  Plume  loved  tradition.  At  West  Point,  where 
he  had  often  visited  in  younger  days,  and  at  all  the  "  old- 
time  "  garrisons,  the  bang  of  the  morning  gun  and  the 
simultaneous  crash  of  the  drums  were  the  military  means 
devised  to  stir  the  soldier  from  his  sleep.  Then,  his 
brief  ablutions  were  conducted  to  the  accompaniment  of 
the  martial  strains  of  the  field  musicians,  alternating  the 
sweet  airs  of  Moore  and  Burns,  the  lyrics  of  Ireland  and 
Auld  Reekie,  with  quicksteps  from  popular  Yankee  melo 
dies  of  the  day,  winding  up  with  a  grand  flourish  at  the 
foot  of  the  flagstaff,  to  whose  summit  the  flag  had  started 
at  the  first  alarum ;  then  a  rush  into  rattling  "  double 
quick  "  that  summoned  the  laggards  to  scurry  into  the 
silently  forming  ranks,  and  finally,  with  one  emphatic 

70 


"  WOMAN-WALK-IN-THE-NIGHT '          71 

rataplan,  the  morning  concert  abruptly  closed  and  the 
gruff  voices  of  the  first  sergeants,  in  swift-running  mono 
tone,  were  heard  calling  the  roll  of  their  shadowy  compa 
nies,  and,  thoroughly  roused,  the  garrison  "  broke  ranks  " 
for  the  long  routine  of  the  day 

We  have  changed  all  that,  and  not  for  the  better.  A 
solitary  trumpeter  steps  forth  from  the  guard-house  or 
adjutant's  office  and,  at  the  appointed  time,  drones  a  long, 
dispiriting  strain  known  to  the  drill  books  as  "Assembly 
of  the  Trumpeters,"  and  to  the  army  at  large  as  "  First 
Call."  Unassisted  by  other  effort,  it  would  rouse  nobody, 
but  from  far  and  near  the  myriad  dogs  of  the  post — 
"  mongrel,  hound,  and  cur  of  low  degree  " — lift  up  their 
canine  voices  in  some  indefinable  sympathy  and  stir  the 
winds  of  the  morning  with  their  mournful  yowls.  Then, 
when  all  the  garrison  gets  up  cursing  and  all  necessity 
for  rousing  is  ended,  the  official  reveille  begins,  sounded 
by  the  combined  trumpeters,  and  so,  uncheered  by  concord 
of  sweet  sounds,  the  soldier  begins  his  day. 

The  two  infantry  companies  at  Sandy,  at  the  time 
whereof  we  tell,  were  of  an  honored  old  regiment  that 
had  fought  with  Worth  at  Monterey — one  whose  scamps 
of  drum  boys  and  fifers  had  got  their  teachings  from  pre 
decessors  whose  nimble  fingers  had  trilled  the  tunes  of 
old  under  the  walls  of  the  Bishop's  Palace  and  in  the  re 
sounding  Halls  of  the  Montezumas.  Plume  and  Cutler 
loved  their  joyous,  rhythmical  strains,  and  would  gladly 
have  kept  the  cavalry  clarions  for  purely  cavalry  calls; 
but  reveille  and  guard-mounting  were  the  only  ones 


72  AN  APACHE  PRINCESS 

where  this  was  practicable,  and  an  odd  thing  had  become 
noticeable.  Apache  Indians  sometimes  stopped  their 
ears,  and  always  looked  impolite,  when  the  brazen  trum 
pets  sounded  close  at  hand ;  whereas  they  would  squat  on 
the  sun-kissed  sands  and  listen  in  stolid,  unmurmuring 
bliss  to  every  note  of  the  fife  and  drum.  Members  of  the 
guard  were  always  sure  of  sympathetic  spectators  during 
the  one  regular  ceremony — guard-mounting — held  just 
after  sunset,  for  the  Apache  prisoners  at  the  guard-house 
begged  to  be  allowed  to  remain  without  the  prison  room 
until  a  little  after  the  "  retreat "  visit  of  the  officer  of  the 
day,  and,  roosting  along  the  guard-house  porch,  to  gaze 
silently  forth  at  the  little  band  of  soldiery  in  the  center  of 
the  parade,  and  there  to  listen  as  silently  to  the  music  of 
the  fife  and  drum.  The  moment  it  was  all  over  they 
would  rise  without  waiting  for  directions,  and  shuffle 
stolidly  back  to  their  hot  wooden  walls.  They  had  had 
the  one  intellectual  treat  of  the  day.  The  savage  breast 
was  soothed  for  the  time  being,  and  Plume  had  come  to 
the  conclusion  that,  aside  from  the  fact  that  his  Indian 
prisoners  were  better  fed  than  when  on  their  native  heath, 
the  Indian  prison  pen  at  Sandy  was  not  the  place  of  pen 
ance  the  department  commander  had  intended.  Acces 
sions  became  so  frequent ;  discharges  so  very  few. 

Then  there  was  another  symptom:  Sentries  on  the 
north  and  east  front,  Nos.  4  and  5,  had  been  a  bit 
startled  at  first  at  seeing,  soon  after  dawn,  shadowy  forms 
rising  slowly  from  the  black  depths  of  the  valley,  hover- 
mg  uncertainly  along  the  edge  of  the  mesa  until  they 


"  WOMAN-WALK-IN-THE-NIGHT  »         73 

could  make  out  the  lone  figure  of  the  morning  watcher, 
then  slowly,  cautiously,  and  with  gestures  of  amity  and 
suppliance,  drawing  gradually  nearer.  Sturdy  Germans 
and  mercurial  Celts  were,  at  the  start,  disposed  to  "  shoo  " 
away  these  specters  as  being  hostile,  or  at  least  incon 
gruous.  But  officers  and  men  were  soon  made  to  see  it 
was  to  hear  the  morning  music  these  children  of  the  des 
ert  flocked  so  early.  The  agency  lay  but  twenty  miles 
distant.  The  reservation  lines  came  no  nearer;  but  the 
fame  of  the  invader's  big  maple  tom-tom  (we  wore  still 
the  deep,  resonant  drum  of  Bunker  Hill  and  Waterloo, 
of  Jemappes,  Saratoga,  and  Chapultepec,  not  the  modern 
rattle  pan  borrowed  from  Prussia),  and  the  trill  of  his 
magical  pipe  had  spread  abroad  throughout  Apache  land 
to  the  end  that  no  higher  reward  for  good  behavior  could 
be  given  by  the  agent  to  his  swarthy  charges  than  the 
begged-for  pa-pel  permitting  them,  in  lumps  of  twenty,  to 
trudge  through  the  evening  shades  to  the  outskirts  of  the 
soldier  castle  on  the  mesa,  there  to  wait  the  long  night 
through  until  the  soft  tinting  of  the  eastward  heavens 
and  the  twitter  of  the  birdlings  in  the  willows  along  the 
stream,  gave  them  courage  to  begin  their  timid  approach. 
And  this  breathless  October  morning  was  no  exception. 
The  sentry  on  the  northward  line,  No.  4,  had  recognized 
and  passed  the  post  surgeon  soon  after  four  o'clock, 
hastening  to  hospital  in  response  to  a  summons  from  an 
anxious  nurse.  Mullins  seemed  far  too  feverish.  No.  4 
as  well  as  No.  5  had  noted  how  long  the  previous  evening 
Shannon  and  his  men  kept  raking  and  searching  about 


74  AN  APACHE  PRINCESS 

the  mesa  where  Mullins  was  stabbed  in  the  early  morn 
ing,  and  they  were  in  no  mood  to  allow  strangers  to  near 
them  unchallenged.  The  first  shadowy  forms  to  show  at 
the  edge  had  dropped  back  abashed  at  the  harsh  recep 
tion  accorded  them.  Four's  infantry  rifle  and  Five's 
cavalry  carbine  had  been  leveled  at  the  very  first  to  ap 
pear,  and  stern  voices  had  said  things  the  Apache  could 
neither  translate  nor  misunderstand.  The  would-be  au 
dience  of  the  morning  concert  ducked  and  waited.  With 
more  light  the  sentry  might  be  more  kind.  The  evening 
previous  six  new  prisoners  had  been  sent  down  under 
strong  guard  by  the  agent,  swelling  the  list  at  Sandy  to 
thirty-seven  and  causing  Plume  to  set  his  teeth — and  an 
extra  sentry.  Now,  as  the  dawn  grew  broader  and  the 
light  clear  and  strong,  Four  and  Five  were  surprised,  if 
not  startled,  to  see  that  not  twenty,  but  probably  forty 
Apaches,  with  a  sprinkling  of  squaws,  were  hovering  all 
along  the  mesa,  mutely  watching  for  the  signaled  per 
mission  to  come  in.  Five,  at  least,  considered  the  symp 
tom  one  of  sufficient  gravity  to  warrant  report  to  higher 
authority,  and  full  ten  minutes  before  the  time  for  reveille 
to  begin,  his  voice  went  echoing  over  the  arid  parade  in 
a  long-draw,  yet  imperative  "  Corporal  of  the  Gua-a-rd, 
No.  5 ! " 

Whereat  there  were  symptoms  of  panic  among  the 
dingy  white-shirted,  dingy  white-turbaned  watchers  along 
the  edge,  and  a  man  in  snowy  white  fatigue  coat,  pacing 
restlessly  up  and  down  in  rear,  this  time,  of  the  major's 
quarters,  whirled  suddenly  about  and  strode  put  on  the 


"  WOMAN-WALK-IN-THE-NIGHT  '  75 

mesa,  gazing  northward  in  the  direction  of  the  sound.  It 
was  Plume  himself,  and  Plume  had  had  a  sleepless  night. 

At  tattoo,  by  his  own  act  and  direction,  the  malor  had 
still  further  strained  the  situation.  The  discovery  of 
Blakely's  watch,  buried  loosely  in  the  sands  barely  ten 
feet  from  where  the  sentry  fell,  had  seemed  to  him  a  mat 
ter  of  such  significance  that,  as  Graham  maintained  an 
expression  of  professional  gravity  and  hazarded  no  ex 
planation,  the  major  sent  for  the  three  captains  still  on 
duty,  Cutler,  Sanders,  and  Westervelt,  and  sought  their 
views.  One  after  another  each  picked  up  and  closely  ex 
amined  the  watch,  within  and  without,  as  though  expec 
tant  of  finding  somewhere  concealed  about  its  mechanism 
full  explanation  of  its  mysterious  goings  and  comings. 
Then  in  turn,  with  like  gravity,  each  declared  he  had  no 
theory  to  offer,  unless,  said  Sanders,  Mr.  Blakely  was 
utterly  mistaken  in  supposing  he  had  been  robbed  at  the 
pool.  Mr.  Blakely  had  the  watch  somewhere  about  him 
when  he  dismounted,  and  then  joggled  it  into  the  sands, 
where  it  soon  was  trampled  under  foot.  Sanders  admit 
ted  that  Blakely  was  a  man  not  often  mistaken,  and  that 
the  loss  reported  to  the  post  trader  of  the  flat  notebook 
was  probably  correct.  But  no  one  could  be  got  to  see, 
much  less  to  say,  that  Wren  was  in  the  slightest  degree 
connected  with  the  temporary  disappearance  of  the  watch. 
Yet  by  this  time  Plume  had  some  such  theory  of  his  own. 

Sometime  during  the  previous  night,  along  toward 
morning,  he  had  sleepily  asked  his  wife,  who  was  softly 
moving  about  the  room,  to  give  him  a  little  water.  The 


76  AN  APACHE  PRINCESS 

"  monkey  "  stood  usually  on  the  window  sill,  its  cool  and 
dewy  surface  close  to  his  hand ;  but  he  remembered  later 
that  she  did  not  then  approach  the  window — did  not  im 
mediately  bring  him  the  glass.  He  had  retired  very  late, 
yet  was  hardly  surprised  to  find  her  wide  awake  and  more 
than  usually  nervous.  She  explained  by  saying  Elise 
had  been  quite  ill,  was  still  suffering,  and  might  need  her 
services  again.  She  could  not  think,  she  said,  of  sending 
for  Dr.  Graham  after  all  he  had  had  to  vex  him.  It  must 
have  been  quite  a  long  while  after,  so  soundly  had  Plume 
slept,  when  she  bent  over  him  and  said  something  was 
amiss  and  Mr.  Doty  was  at  the  front  door  waiting  for 
him  to  come  down.  He  felt  oddly  numb  and  heavy  and 
stupid  as  he  hastily  dressed,  but  Doty's  tidings,  that  Mul- 
lins  had  been  stabbed  on  post,  pulled  him  together,  as  it 
were,  and,  merely  running  back  to  his  room  for  his  can 
vas  shoes,  he  was  speedily  at  the  scene.  Mrs.  Plume, 
when  briefly  told  what  had  happened,  had  covered  her 
face  with  her  hands  and  buried  face  and  all  in  the  pillow, 
shuddering.  At  breakfast-time  Plume  himself  had  taken 
her  tea  and  toast,  both  mistress  and  maid  being  still  on 
the  invalid  list,  and,  bending  affectionately  over  her,  he 
had  suggested  her  taking  this  very  light  refreshment  and 
then  a  nap.  Graham,  he  said,  should  come  and  prescribe 
for  Elise.  But  madame  was  feverishly  anxious.  "  What 
will  be  the  outcome?  What  will  happen  to — Captain 
Wren?"  she  asked. 

Plume  would  not  say  just  what,  but  he  would  certainly 
have  to  stand  court-martial,  said  he.     Mrs.  Plume  shud- 


"  WOMAN-WALK-IN-THE-NIGHT '          77 

dered  more.  What  good  would  that  do?  How  much 
better  it  would  be  to  suppress  everything  than  set  such 
awful  scandal  afloat.  The  matter  was  now  in  the  hands 
of  the  department  commander,  said  Plume,  and  would 
have  to  take  its  course.  Then,  in  some  way,  from  her 
saying  how  ill  the  captain  was  looking,  Plume  gathered 
the  impression  that  she  had  seen  him  since  his  arrest,  and 
asked  the  question  point-blank.  Yes,  she  admitted, — 
from  the  window, — while  she  was  helping  Elise.  Where 
was  he?  What  was  he  doing?  Plume  had  asked,  all  in 
terest  now,  for  that  must  have  been  very  late,  in  fact,  well 
toward  morning.  "  Oh,  nothing  especial,  just  looking 
at  his  watch,"  she  thought,  "  he  probably  couldn't  sleep." 
Yes,  she  was  sure  he  was  looking  at  his  watch. 

Then,  as  luck  would  have  it,  late  in  the  day,  when  the 
mail  came  down  from  Prescott,  there  was  a  little  package 
for  Captain  Wren,  expressed,  and  Doty  signed  the  re 
ceipt  and  sent  it  by  the  orderly.  "What  was  it  ?  "  asked 
Plume.  "  His  watch,  sir,"  was  the  brief  answer.  "  He 
sent  it  up  last  month  for  repairs,"  And  Mrs.  Plume  at 
nine  that  night,  knowing  nothing  of  this,  yet  surprised  at 
her  husband's  pertinacity,  stuck  to  her  story.  She  was 
sure  Wren  was  consulting  or  winding  or  doing  some 
thing  with  a  watch,  and,  sorely  perplexed  and  marveling 
much  at  the  reticence  of  his  company  commanders,  who 
seemed  to  know  something  they  would  not  speak  of, 
Wren  sent  for  Doty.  He  had  decided  on  another  inter 
view  with  Wren. 

Meanwhile  "  the  Bugologist "  had  been  lying  patiently 


78  AN  APACHE  PRINCESS 

in  his  cot,  saying  little  or  nothing,  in  obedience  to  the  doc 
tor's  orders,  but  thinking  who  knows  what.  Duane  and 
Doty  occasionally  tiptoed  in  to  glance  inquiry  at  the  fan 
ning  attendant,  and  then  tiptoed  out.  Mullins  had  been 
growing  worse  and  was  a  very  sick  man.  Downs,  the 
wretch,  was  painfully,  ruefully,  remorsefully  sobered 
over  at  the  post  of  the  guard,  and  of  Graham's  feminine 
patients  the  one  most  in  need,  perhaps,  of  his  ministration 
was  giving  the  least  trouble.  While  Aunt  Janet  paced 
restlessly  about  the  lower  floor,  stopping  occasionally  to 
listen  at  the  portal  of  her  brother,  Angela  Wren  lay  silent 
and  only  sometimes  sighing,  with  faithful  Kate  Sanders 
reading  in  low  tone  by  the  bedside. 

The  captains  had  gone  back  to  their  quarters,  confer 
ring  in  subdued  voices.  Plume,  with  his  unhappy  young 
adjutant,  was  seated  on  the  veranda,  striving  to  frame 
his  message  to  Wren,  when  the  crack  of  a  whip,  the 
crunching  of  hoofs  and  wheels,  sounded  at  the  north  end 
of  the  row,  and  down  at  swift  trot  came  a  spanking,  four- 
mule  team  and  Concord  wagon.  It  meant  but  one  thing, 
the  arrival  of  the  general's  staff  inspector  straight  from 
Prescott. 

It  was  the  very  thing  Plume  had  urged  by  telegraph, 
yet  the  very  fact  that  Colonel  Byrne  was  here  went  to 
prove  that  the  chief  was  far  from  satisfied  that  the  ma 
jor's  diagnosis  was  the  right  one.  With  soldierly  alac 
rity,  however,  Plume  sprang  forward  to  welcome  the 
coming  dignitary,  giving  his  hand  to  assist  him  from  the 
dark  interior  into  the  light.  Then  he  drew  back  in  some 


"  WOMAN-WALK-IN-THE-NIGHT  »          79 

chagrin.  The  voice  of  Colonel  Byrne  was  heard,  jovial 
and  reassuring,  but  the  face  and  form  first  to  appear 
were  those  of  Mr.  Wayne  Daly,  the  new  Indian  agent  at 
the  Apache  reservation.  Coming  by  the  winding  way  of 
Cherry  Creek,  the  colonel  must  have  found  means  to  wire 
ahead,  then  to  pick  up  this  civil  functionary  some  dis 
tance  up  the  valley,  and  to  have  some  conference  with  him 
before  ever  reaching  the  major's  bailiwick.  This  was  not 
good,  said  Plume.  All  the  same,  he  led  them  into  his 
cozy  army  parlor,  bade  his  Chinese  servant  get  abundant 
supper  forthwith,  and,  while  the  two  were  shown  to  the 
spare  room  to  remove  the  dust  of  miles  of  travel,  once 
more  returned  to  the  front  piazza  and  his  adjutant. 

"  Captain  Wren,  sir,"  said  the  young  officer  at  once, 
"begs  to  be  allowed  to  see  Colonel  Byrne  this  evening. 
He  states  that  his  reasons  are  urgent." 

"  Captain  Wren  shall  have  every  opportunity  to  see 
Colonel  Byrne  in  due  season,"  was  the  answer.  "  It  is 
not  to  be  expected  that  Colonel  Byrne  will  see  him  until 
after  he  has  seen  the  post  commander.  Then  it  will  prob 
ably  be  too  late,"  and  that  austere  reply,  intended  to  reach 
the  ears  of  the  applicant,  steeled  the  Scotchman's  heart 
against  his  commander  and  made  him  merciless. 

The  "  conference  of  the  powers  "  was  indeed  protracted 
until  long  after  10.30,  yet,  to  Plume's  surprise,  the 
colonel  at  its  close  said  he  believed  he  would  go,  if  Plume 
had  no  objection,  and  see  Wren  in  person  and  at  once. 
"  You  see,  Plume,  the  general  thinks  highly  of  the  old 
Scot.  He  has  known  him  ever  since  First  Bull  Run  and, 


80  AN  APACHE  PRINCESS 

in  fact,  I  am  instructed  to  hear  what  Wren  may  have  to 
say.  I  hope  you  will  not  misinterpret  the  motive." 

"  Oh,  not  at  all — not  at  all !  "  answered  the  major,  obvi 
ously  ill  pleased,  however,  and  already  nettled  that, 
against  all  precedent,  certain  of  the  Apache  prisoners  had 
been  ordered  turned  out  as  late  as  10  P.M.  for  interview 
with  the  agent.  It  would  leave  him  alone,  too,  for  as 
much  as  half  an  hour,  and  the  very  air  seemed  surcharged 
with  intrigue  against  the  might,  majesty,  power,  and  do 
minion  of  the  post  commander.  Byrne,  a  soldier  of  the 
old  school,  might  do  his  best  to  convince  the  major  that 
in  no  wise  was  the  confidence  of  the  general  commanding 
abated,  but  every  symptom  spoke  of  something  to  the 
contrary.  "  I  should  like,  too,  to  see  Dr.  Graham  to 
night,"  said  the  official  inquisitor  ere  he  quitted  the  piazza 
to  go  to  Wren's  next  door.  "  He  will  be  here  to  meet 
you  on  your  return,"  said  Plume,  with  just  a  bit  of  state- 
liness,  of  ruffled  dignity  in  manner,  and  turned  once  more 
within  the  hallway  to  summon  his  smiling  Chinaman. 

Something  rustling  at  the  head  of  the  stairs  caused  him 
to  look  up  quickly.  Something  dim  and  white  was  hov 
ering,  drooping,  over  the  balustrade,  and,  springing  aloft, 
he  found  his  wife  in  a  half-fainting  condition,  Elise,  the 
invalid,  sputtering  vehemently  in  French  and  making 
vigorous  effort  to  pull  her  away.  Plume  had  left  her  at 
8.30,  apparently  sleeping  at  last  under  the  influence  of 
Graham's  medicine.  Yet  here  she  was  again.  He  lifted 
her  in  his  arms  and  laid  her  upon  the  broad,  white  bed. 
"  Clarice,  my  child,"  he  said,  "  you  must  be  quiet.  You 


"  WOMAN-WALK-IN-THE-NIGHT '          81 

must  not  leave  your  bed.  I  am  sending  for  Graham  and 
he  will  come  to  us  at  once." 

"  I  will  not  see  him !  He  shall  not  see  me !  "  she  burst 
in  wildly.  "  The  man  maddens  me  with  his — his  inso 
lence." 

"Clarice!" 

"  Oh,  I  mean  it !  He  and  his  brother  Scot,  between 
them — they  would  infuriate  a — saint,"  and  she  was  writh 
ing  in  nervous  contortions. 

"But,  Clarice,  how?" 

"  But,  monsieur,  no !  "  interppsed  Elise,  bending  over, 
glass  in  hand.  "  Madame  will  but  sip  of  this — Madame 
will  be  tranquil."  And  the  major  felt  himself  thrust 
aside.  "  Madame  must  not  talk  to-night.  It  is  too 
much." 

But  madame  would  talk.  Madame  would  know  where 
Colonel  Byrne  was  gone,  whether  he  was  to  be  permitted 
to  see  Captain  Wren  and  Dr.  Graham,  and  that  wretch 
Downs.  Surely  the  commanding  officer  must  have  some 
rights.  Surely  it  was  no  time  for  investigation — this 
hour  of  the  night.  Five  minutes  earlier  Plume  was  of 
the  same  way  of  thinking.  Now  he  believed  his  wife 
delirious. 

"  See  to  her  a  moment,  Elise,"  said  he,  breaking  loose 
from  the  clasp  of  the  long,  be  jeweled  fingers,  and,  scurry 
ing  down  the  stairs,  he  came  face  to  face  with  Dr.  Gra 
ham. 

"  I  was  coming  for  you,"  said  he,  at  sight  of  the  rugged, 
somber  face.  "  Mrs.  Plume " 


82  AN  APACHE  PRINCESS 

"  I  heard — at  least  I  comprehend/'  answered  Graham, 
with  uplifted  hand.  "  The  lady  is  in  a  highly  nervous 
state,  and  my  presence  does  not  tend  to  soothe  her.  The 
remedies  I  left  will  take  effect  in  time.  Leave  her  to 
that  waiting  woman ;  she  best  understands  her." 

"  But  she's  almost  raving,  man.  I  never  knew  a 
woman  to  behave  like  that." 

"  Ye're  not  long  married,  major,"  answered  Graham. 
"  Come  into  the  air  a  bit,"  and,  taking  his  commander's 
arm,  the  surgeon  swept  him  up  the  starlit  row,  then  over 
toward  the  guard-house,  and  kept  him  half  an  hour 
watching  the  strange  interview  between  Mr.  Daly,  the 
agent,  and  half  a  dozen  gaunt,  glittering-eyed  Apaches, 
from  whom  he  was  striving  to  get  some  admission  or  in 
formation,  with  Arahawa,  "  Washington  Charley,"  as 
interpreter.  One  after  another  the  six  had  shaken  their 
frowsy  heads.  They  admitted  nothing — knew  nothing. 

"  What  do  you  make  of  it  all  ?  "  queried  Plume. 

"  Something's  wrang  at  the  reservation,"  answered 
Graham.  "  There  mostly  is.  Daly  thinks  there's  run 
ning  to  and  fro  between  the  Tontos  in  the  Sierra  Ancha 
country  and  his  wards  above  here.  He  thinks  there's 
more  out  than  there  should  be — and  more  a-going. 
What  'd  you  find,  Daly  ?  "  he  added,  as  the  agent  joined 
them,  mechanically  wiping  his  brow.  Moisture  there 
was  none.  It  evaporated  fast  as  the  pores  exuded. 

"  They  know  well  enough,  damn  them !  "  said  the  new 
official.  "  But  they  think  I  can  be  stood  off.  I'll  nail 
'em  yet — to-morrow,"  he  added.  "  But  could  you  send 


"  WOMAN-WALK-IN-THE-NIGHT  »         83 

a  scout  at  once  to  the  Tonto  basin  ?  "  and  Daly  turned 
eagerly  to  the  post  commander. 

Plume  reflected.  Whom  could  he  send?  Men  there 
were  in  plenty,  dry-rotting  at  the  post  for  lack  of  some 
thing  to  limber  their  joints ;  but  officers  to  lead  ?  There 
was  the  rub!  Thirty  troopers,  twenty  Apache  Mohave 
guides,  a  pack  train  and  one  or,  at  most,  two  officers 
made  up  the  usual  complement  of  such  expeditions.  Men, 
mounts,  scouts,  mules  and  packers,  all,  were  there  at  his 
behest ;  but,  with  Wren  in  arrest,  Sanders  and  Lynn  back 
but  a  week  from  a  long  prod  through  the  Black  Mesa 
country  far  as  Fort  Apache,  Blakely  invalided  and  Duane 
a  boy  second  lieutenant,  his  choice  of  cavalry  officers 
was  limited.  It  never  occurred  to  him  to  look 
beyond. 

"  What's  the  immediate  need  of  a  scout  ?  "  said  he. 

"  To  break  up  the  traffic  that's  going  on — and  the  ran- 
cherias  they  must  have  somewhere  down  there.  If  we 
don't,  I'll  not  answer  for  another  month."  Daly  might  be 
new  to  the  neighborhood,  but  not  to  the  business. 

"  I'll  confer  with  Colonel  Byrne,"  answered  Plume 
guardedly.  And  Byrne  was  waiting  for  them,  a  tall,  dark 
shadow  in  the  black  depths  of  the  piazza.  Graham  would 
have  edged  away  and  gone  to  his  own  den,  but  Plume 
held  to  him.  There  was  something  he  needed  to  say,  yet 
could  not  until  the  agent  had  retired.  Daly  saw, — per 
haps  he  had  already  imbibed  something  of  the  situation, — 
and  was  not  slow  to  seek  his  room.  Plume  took  the  lit 
tle  kerosene  lamp ;  hospitably  led  the  way ;  made  the  cus- 


84  AN  APACHE  PRINCESS 

tomary  tender  of  a  "  night-cap,"  and  polite  regrets  he 
had  no  ice  to  offer  therewith;  left  his  unwonted  guest 
with  courteous  good-night  and  cast  an  eye  aloft  as  he 
came  through  the  hall.  All  there  was  dark  and  still, 
though  he  doubted  much  that  Graham's  sedatives  had  yet 
prevailed.  He  had  left  the  two  men  opposite  the  door 
way.  He  found  them  at  the  south  end  of  the  piazza, 
their  heads  together.  They  straightened  up  to  perfunc 
tory  talk  about  the  Medical  Director,  his  drastic  methods 
and  inflammable  ways;  but  the  mirth  was  forced,  the 
humor  far  too  dry.  Then  silence  fell.  Then  Plume  in 
vaded  it: 

"How'd  you  find  Wren — mentally?"  he  presently 
asked.  He  felt  that  an  opening  of  some  kind  was  neces 
sary. 

"  Sound,"  was  the  colonel's  answer,  slow  and  "senten 
tious.  "  Of  course  he  is  much — concerned." 

"  About — his  case  ?     Ah,  will  you  smoke,  colonel  ?  " 
"  About  Blakely.     I  believe  not,  Plume ;  it's  late." 
Plume  struck  a  light  on  the  sole  of  his  natty  boot. 
"  One  would  suppose  he  would  feel  very  natural  anxiety 
as  to  the  predicament  in  which  he  has  placed  himself,"  he 
ventured. 

"  Wren  worries  much  over  Blakely 's  injuries,  which 
accident  made  far  more  serious  than  he  would  have  in 
flicted,  major,  even  had  he  had  the  grounds  for  violence 
that  he  thought  he  had.  Blakely  was  not  the  only  suf 
ferer,  and  is  not  the  only  cause,  of  his  deep  contrition. 
Wren  tells  me  that  he  was  even  harsher  to  Angela.  But 


"  WOMAN-WALK-IN-THE-NIGHT  "         85 

that  is  all  a  family  matter."  The  colonel  was  speaking 
slowly,  thoughtfully. 

"  But — these  later  affairs — that  Wren  couldn't  explain 
— or  wouldn't."  Plume's  voice  and  color  both  were 
rising. 

"  Couldn't  is  the  just  word,  major,  and  couldn't  espe 
cially — to  you,"  was  the  significant  reply. 

Plume  rose  from  his  chair  and  stood  a  moment,  trem 
bling  not  a  little  and  his  fingers  twitching.  "  You 
mean "  he  huskily  began. 

"  I  mean  this,  my  friend,"  said  Byrne  gently,  as  he, 
too,  arose,  "  and  I  have  asked  Graham,  another  friend,  to 
be  here — that  Wren  would  not  defend  himself  to  you  by 
even  mentioning — others,  and  might  not  have  revealed 
the  truth  even  to  me  had  he  been  the  only  one  cognizant 
of  it.  But,  Plume,  others  saw  what  he  saw,  and  what  is 
now  known  to  many  people  on  the  post.  Others  than 
Wren  were  abroad  that  night.  One  other  was  being 
carefully,  tenderly  brought  home — led  home — to  your 
roof.  You  did  not  know — Mrs.  Plume  was  a  somnam 
bulist?" 

In  the  dead  silence  that  ensued  the  colonel  put  forth  a 
pitying  hand  as  though  to  stay  and  support  the  younger 
soldier,  the  post  commander.  Plume  stood,  swaying  a 
bit,  and  staring.  Presently  he  strove  to  speak,  but  choked 
in  the  effort. 

"  It's  the  only  proper  explanation,"  said  Graham,  and 
between  them  they  led  the  major  within  doors. 

And  this  is  how  it  happened  that  he,  instead  of  Wren, 


86  AN  APACHE  PRINCESS 

was  pacing  miserably  up  and  down  in  the  gathering  dawn, 
when  the  sentry  startled  all  waking  Sandy  with  his  cry 
for  the  corporal.  This  is  how,  far  ahead  of  the  corporal, 
the  post  commander  reached  the  alarmed  soldier,  with 
demand  to  know  the  cause ;  and,  even  by  the  time  he  came, 
the  cause  had  vanished  from  sight. 

"Apaches,  sir,  by  the  dozen, — all  along  the  edge  of  the 
mesa"  stammered  No.  5.  He  could  have  convinced  the 
corporal  without  fear  or  thought  of  ridicule,  but  his  voice 
lacked  confidence  when  he  stood  challenged  by  his  com 
manding  officer.  Plume  heard  with  instant  suspicion. 
He  was  in  no  shape  for  judicial  action. 

"Apaches ! "  This  in  high  disdain.  "  Trash,  man ! 
Because  one  sentry  has  a  scuffle  with  some  night  prowler 
is  the  next  to  lose  his  nerve  ?  You're  scared  by  shadows, 
Hunt.  That's  what's  the  matter  with  you !  " 

It  "  brought  to  "  a  veteran  trooper  with  a  round  turn. 
Hunt  had  served  his  fourth  enlistment,  had  "  worn  out 
four  blankets  "  in  the  regiment,  and  was  not  to  be  accused 
of  scare. 

"  Let  the  major  see  for  himself,  then,"  he  answered 
sturdily.  "  Come  in  here,  you ! "  he  called  aloud. 
"  Come,  the  whole  gang  of  ye.  The  concert's  begin 
ning  !  "  Then,  slowly  along  the  eastward  edge  there  be 
gan  to  creep  into  view  black  polls  bound  with  dirty  white, 
black  crops  untrammeled  by  any  binding.  Then,  swift 
from  the  west,  came  running  footfalls,  the  corporal  with 
a  willing  comrade  or  two,  wondering  was  Five  in  further 
danger.  There,  silent  and  regretful,  stood  the  post  com- 


"  WOMAN-WALK-IN-THE-NIGHT  "         87 

mander,  counting  in  surprise  the  score  of  scarecrow  forms 
now  plainly  visible,  sitting,  standing,  or  squatting  along 
the  mesa  edge.  Northernmost  in  view,  nearly  opposite 
Blakely's  quarters,  were  two,  detached  from  the  general 
assembly,  yet  clinging  close  together — two  slender  fig 
ures,  gowned,  and  it  was  at  these  the  agent  Daly  was 
staring,  as  he,  too,  came  running  to  the  spot. 

"  Major  Plume,"  cried  he,  panting,  "  I  want  those  girls 
arrested,  at  once !  " 


CHAPTER  VIII 


A  five  o'clock  of  this  cloudless  October  morning 
Colonel  Montgomery  Byrne,  "  of  the  old  Army, 
sir,"  was  reviling  the  fates  that  had  set  him  the 
task  of  unraveling  such  a  skein  as  he  found  at  Sandy. 
At  six  he  was  blessing  the  stars  that  sent  him.  Awak 
ened,  much  before  his  usual  hour,  by  half-heard  murmur 
of  scurry  and  excitement,  so  quickly  suppressed  he  be 
lieved  it  all  a  dream,  he  was  thinking,  half  drowsily,  all 
painfully,  of  the  duty  devolving  on  him  for  the  day,  and 
wishing  himself  well  out  of  it,  when  the  dream  became 
real,  the  impression  vidid.  His  watch  told  him  reveille 
should  now  be  sounding.  His  ears  told  him  the  sounds 
he  heard  were  not  those  of  reveille,  yet  something  had 
roused  the  occupants  of  Officers'  Row,  and  then,  all  on 
a  sudden,  instead  of  the  sweet  strains  of  "  The  Dawn  of 
the  Day  "  or  "  Bonnie  Lass  o'  Gawrie  "  there  burst  upon 
the  morning  air,  harsh  and  blustering,  the  alarum  of  the 
Civil  War  days,  the  hoarse  uproar  of  the  drum  thundering 
the  long  roll,  while  above  all  rang  the  loud  clamor  of  the 
cavalry  trumpet  sounding  "  To  Horse." 

"  Fitz  James  was  brave,  but  to  his  heart 
The  life  blood  leaped  with  sudden  start." 


"  APACHE  KNIVES  DIG  DEEP  "  89 

Byrne  sprang  from  his  bed.  He  was  a  soldier,  battle- 
tried,  but  this  meant  something  utterly  new  to  him  in 
war,  for,  mingling  with  the  gathering  din,  he  heard  the 
shriek  of  terror-stricken  women.  Daly's  bed  was  empty. 
The  agent  was  gone.  Elise  aloft  was  jabbering  patois  at 
her  dazed  and  startled  mistress.  Suey,  the  Chinaman, 
came  clattering  in,  all  flapping  legs  and  arms  and  pigtail, 
his  face  livid,  his  eyes  staring.  "  Patcheese !  Pat- 
cheese  ! "  he  squealed,  and  dove  under  the  nearest  bed. 
Then  Byrne,  shinning  into  boots  and  breeches  and  shun 
ning  his  coat,  grabbed  his  revolver  and  rushed  for  the 
door. 

Across  the  parade,  out  of  their  barracks  the  "  dough 
boys  "  came  streaming,  no  man  of  them  dressed  for  in 
spection,  but  rather,  like  sailors,  stripped  for  a  fight; 
and,  never  waiting  to  form  ranks,  but  following  the  lead 
of  veteran  sergeants  and  the  signals  or  orders  of  officers 
somewhere  along  the  line,  went  sprinting  straight  for  the 
eastward  mesa.  From  the  cavalry  barracks,  the  north 
ward  sets,  the  troopers,  too,  were  flowing,  but  these  were 
turned  stableward,  back  of  the  post,  and  Byrne,  with  his 
nightshirt  flying  wide  open,  wider  than  his  eyes,  bolted 
round  through  the  space  between  the  quarters  of  Plume 
and  Wren,  catching  sight  of  the  arrested  captain  standing 
grim  and  gaunt  on  his  back  piazza,  and  ran  with  the  fore 
most  sergeants  to  the  edge  of  the  plateau,  where,  in  his 
cool  white  garb,  stood  Plume,  shouting  orders  to  those 
beneath. 

There,  down  in  the  Sandy  bottom,  was  explanation  of 


90  AN  APACHE  PRINCESS 

it  all.  Two  soldiers  were  bending  over  a  prostrate  form 
in  civilian  dress.  Two  swarthy  Apaches,  one  on  his  face, 
the  other,  ten  rods  away,  writhing  on  his  side,  lay  welter 
ing  in  blood.  Out  along  the  sandy  barren  and  among  the 
clumps  of  mezquite  and  greasewood,  perhaps  as  many  as 
ten  soldiers,  members  of  the  guard,  were  scattering  in 
rude  skirmish  order;  now  halting  and  dropping  on  one 
knee  to  fire,  now  rushing  forward ;  while  into  the  willows, 
that  swept  in  wide  concave  around  the  flat,  a  number  of 
forms  in  dirty  white,  or  nothing  at  all  but  streaming 
breechclout,  were  just  disappearing. 

Northward,  too,  beyond  the  post  of  No.  4,  other  little 
squads  and  parties  could  be  faintly  seen  scurrying  away 
for  the  shelter  of  the  willows,  and  as  Byrne  reached  the 
major's  side,  with  the  to-be-expected  query  "  Whatin- 
heirsthematter  ?  "  the  last  of  the  fleeing  Apaches  popped 
out  of  sight,  and  Plume  turned  toward  him  in  mingled 
wrath  and  disgust : 

"  That — ass  of  an  agent !  "  was  all  he  could  say,  as  he 
pointed  to  the  prostrate  figure  in  pepper  and  salt. 

Byrne  half  slid,  half  stumbled  down  the  bank  and  bent 
over  the  wounded  man.  Dead  he  was  not,  for,  with  both 
hands  clasped  to  his  breast,  Daly  was  cradling  from  side 
to  side  and  saying  things  of  Apaches  totally  unbecoming 
an  Indian  agent  and  a  man  of  God.  "  But  who  did  it  ? 
and  how  ? — and  why  ?  "  demanded  Byrne  of  the  minis 
tering  soldiers. 

"  Tried  to  'rest  two  Patchie  girls,  sir,"  answered  the 
first,  straightening  up  and  saluting,  "  and  her  feller 


"  APACHE  KNIVES  DIG  DEEP  "  91 

wouldn't  stand  it,  I  reckon.  Knifed  the  agent  and  Cra- 
ney,  too.  Yonder's  the  feller." 

Yonder  lay,  face  downward,  as  described,  a  sinewy 
young  brave  of  the  Apache  Mohave  band,  his  newer, 
cleaner  shirt  and  his  gayly  ornamented  sash  and  headgear 
telling  of  superior  rank  and  station  among  his  kind.  With 
barely  a  glance  at  Craney,  squatted  beside  a  bush,  and 
with  teeth  and  hands  knotting  a  kerchief  about  a  bleeding 
arm,  Byrne  bent  over  the  Apache  and  turned  the  face  to 
the  light. 

"  Good  God !  "  he  cried,  at  the  instant,  "  it's  Quona- 
thay — Raven  Shield !  Why,  you  know  him,  corporal !  " 
— this  to  Casey,  of  Wren's  troop,  running  to  his  side. 
"  Son  of  old  Chief  Quonahelka !  I  wouldn't  have  had 
this  happen  for  all  the  girls  on  the  reservation.  Who 
were  they?  Why  did  he  try  to  arrest  them ?  Here!  I'll 
have  to  ask  him — stabbed  or  not !  "  And,  anxious  and  an 
gering,  the  colonel  hastened  over  toward  the  agent,  now 
being  slowly  aided  to  his  feet.  Plume,  too,  had  come 
sidelong  down  the  sandy  bank  with  Cutler,  of  the  infan 
try,  asking  where  he  should  put  in  his  men.  "  Oh,  just 
deploy  across  the  flats  to  stand  off  any  possible  attack," 
said  Plume.  "  Don't  cross  the  Sandy,  and,  damn  it  all ! 
get  a  bugler  out  and  sound  recall !  "  For  now  the  sound 
of  distant  shots  came  echoing  back  from  the  eastward 
cliffs.  The  pursuit  had  spread  beyond  the  stream.  "  I 
don't  want  any  more  of  those  poor  devils  hurt.  There's 
mischief  enough  already,"  he  concluded. 

"  I  should  say  so,"  echoed  the  colonel.    "  What  was 


92  AN  APACHE  PRINCESS 

the  matter,  Mr.  Daly?  Whom  did  you  seek  to  arrest? — 
and  why  ?  " 

"Almost  any  of  'em,"  groaned  Daly.  "  There  were  a 
dozen  there  I'd  refused  passes  to  come  again  this  week. 
They  were  here  in  defiance  of  my  orders,  and  I  thought 
to  take  that  girl  Natzie, — she  that  led  Lola  off, — back  to 
her  father  at  the  agency.  It  would  have  been  a  good  les 
son.  Of  course  she  fought  and  scratched.  Next  thing 
I  knew  a  dozen  of  'em  were  atop  of  us — some  water,  for 
God's  sake ! — and  lift  me  out  of  this !  " 

Then  with  grave  and  watch-worn  face,  Graham  came 
hurrying  to  the  spot,  all  the  way  over  from  Mullins's  bed 
side  at  the  hospital  and  breathing  hard.  Dour  indeed 
was  the  look  he  gave  the  groaning  agent,  now  gulping  at 
a  gourd  held  to  his  pale  lips  by  one  of  the  men.  The 
policy  of  Daly's  predecessor  had  been  to  feather  his  own 
nest  and  let  the  Indian  shift  for  himself,  and  this  had  led 
to  his  final  overthrow.  Daly,  however,  had  come  direct 
from  the  care  of  a  tribe  of  the  Pueblo  persuasion,  peac- 
loving  and  tillers  of  the  soil,  meek  as  the  Pimas  and  Mari- 
copas,  natives  who  fawned  when  he  frowned  and  cringed 
at  the  crack  of  his  whip.  These  he  had  successfully,  and 
not  dishonestly,  ruled,  but  that  very  experience  had  un 
fitted  him  for  duty  over  the  mountain  Apache,  who 
cringed  no  more  than  did  the  lordly  Sioux  or  Cheyenne, 
and  truckled  to  no  man  less  than  a  tribal  chief.  Blakely, 
the  soldier,  cool,  fearless,  and  resolute,  but  scrupulously 
just,  they  believed  in  and  feared;  but  this  new  blusterer 
only  made  them  laugh,  until  he  scandalized  them  by 


«  APACHE  KNIVES  DIG  DEEP  » 


93 


wholesale  arrest  and  punishment.  Then  their  childlike 
merriment  changed  swiftly  to  furious  and  scowling  hate, 
-to  open  defiance,  and  finally,  when  he  dared  lay  hands 
on  a  chosen  daughter  of  the  race,  to  mutiny  and  the  knife. 
Graham,  serving  his  third  year  in  the  valley,  had  seen  the 
crisis  coming  and  sought  to  warn  the  man.  But  what 
should  an  army  doctor  know  of  an  Apache  Indian?  said 
Daly,  and,  fatuous  in  his  own  conceit,  the  crisis  found 
him  unprepared. 

"  Go  you  for  a  stretcher,"  said  the  surgeon,  after  a 
quick  look  into  the  livid  face.     "Lay  him  down  gently 
there,"  and  kneeling,  busied  himself  with  opening  a  way 
to  the  wound.     Out  over  the  flats  swung  the  long  skir 
mish  line,  picturesque  in  the  variety  of  its  undress,  Cutler 
striding  vociferous  in  its  wake,  while  a  bugler  ran  himself 
out  of  breath,  far  to  the  eastward  front,  to  puff  feeble  and 
abortive  breath  into  unresponsive  copper.     And  still  the 
same  flutter  of  distant,  scattering  shots  came  drifting  back 
from  the  brakes  and  canons  in  the  rocky  wilds  beyond 
the  stream.    The  guard  still  pursued  and  the  Indians 
still  led,  but  they  who  knew  anything  well  knew  it  could 
not  be  'long  before  the  latter  turned  on  the  scattering 
chase,   and   Byrne   strode   about,   fuming  with   anxiety. 
"  Thank  God!  "  he  cried,  as  a  prodigious  clatter  of  hoofs, 
on  hollow  and  resounding  wood,  told  of  cavalry  coming 
across  the  acequia,  and  Sanders  galloped  round  the  sandy 
point  in  search  of  the  foe-or  orders.     "Thank  God! 
Here,   Sanders— pardon  me,   major,   there  isn't  an  in 
stant  to  lose— Rush  your  men  right  on  to  the  front  there! 


94  AN  APACHE  PRINCESS 

Spread  well  out,  but  don't  fire  a  shot  unless  attacked  in 
force!  Get  those — chasing  idiots  and  bring  them  in! 
By  God,  sir,  we'll  have  an  Indian  war  on  our  hands  as  it 
is !  "  And  Sanders  nodded  and  dug  spurs  to  his  troop 
horse,  and  sang  out:  "  Left  front  into  line — gallop!  "  and 
the  rest  was  lost  in  a  cloud  of  dust  and  the  blare  of  cav 
alry  trumpet. 

Then  the  colonel  turned  to  Plume,  standing  now  silent 
and  sore  troubled.  "  It  was  the  quickest  way,"  he  said 
apologetically.  "  Ordinarily  I  should  have  given  the  or 
der  through  you,  of  course.  But  those  beggars  are 
armed  to  a  man.  They  left  their  guns  in  the  crevices  of 
yonder  rocks,  probably,  when  they  came  for  the  morning 
music.  We  must  have  no  fight  over  this  unless  they 
force  it.  I  wish  to  heaven  we  hadn't  killed — these  two," 
and  ruefully  he  looked  at  the  stark  forms — the  dead  lover 
of  Natzie,  the  gasping  tribesman  just  beyond,  dying, 
knife  in  hand.  "  The  general  has  been  trying  to  curb 
Daly  for  the  last  ten  days,"  continued  he,  "  and  warned 
him  he'd  bring  on  trouble.  The  interpreter  split  with 
him  on  Monday  last,  and  there's  been  mischief  brewing 
ever  since.  If  only  we  could  have  kept  Blakely  there — 
all  this  row  would  have  been  averted !" 

If  only,  indeed!  was  Plume  thinking,  as  eagerly,  anx 
iously  he  scanned  the  eastward  shore,  rising  jagged,  rocky, 
and  forbidding  from  the  willows  of  the  stream  bed.  If 
only,  indeed !  Not  only  all  this  row  of  which  Byrne  had 
seen  so  much,  but  all  this  other  row,  this  row  within  a 
row,  this  intricacy  of  mishaps  and  misery  that  involved 


"  APACHE  KNIVES  DIG  DEEP  "  95 

the  social  universe  of  Camp  Sandy,  of  which  as  yet  the 
colonel,  presumably,  knew  so  very  little ;  of  which,  as  post 
commander,  Plume  had  yet  to  tell  him!  An  orderly 
came  running  with  a  field  glass  and  a  scrap  of  paper. 
Plume  glanced  at  the  latter,  a  pencil  scrawl  of  his  wife's 
inseparable  companion,  and,  for  aught  he  knew,  con 
fidante.  "  Madame,"  he  could  make  out,  and  "  affreuse- 
ment"  something,  but  it  was  enough.  The  orderly  sup 
plemented  :  "  Leece,  sir,  says  the  lady  is  very  bad " 

"  Go  to  her,  Plume,"  with  startling  promptitude  cried 
the  colonel.  "  I'll  look  to  everything  here.  It's  all 
coming  out  right,"  for  with  a  tantara — tantara-ra-ra 
Sanders's  troop,  spreading  far  and  wide,  were  scrambling 
up  the  shaly  slopes  a  thousand  yards  away.  "  Go  to 
your  wife  and  tell  her  the  danger's  over,"  and,  with  hardly 
another  glance  at  the  moaning  agent,  now  being  limply 
hoisted  on  a  hospital  stretcher,  thankfully  the  major  went. 
"  The  lady's  very  bad,  is  she  ?  "  growled  Byrne,  in  fierce 
aside  to  Graham.  "  That  French  hag  sometimes  speaks 
truth,  in  spite  of  herself.  How  d'you  find  him  ?"  This 
with  a  toss  of  the  head  toward  the  vanishing  stretcher. 

"  Bad  likewise.  These  Apache  knives  dig  deep. 
There's  Mullins  now " 

"  Think  that  was  Apache  ?  "  glared  Byrne,  with  sud 
den  light  in  his  eyes,  for  Wren  had  told  his  troubles — all. 

"  Apache  knife — yes." 

"What  the  devil  do  you  mean,  Graham?"  and  the 
veteran  soldier,  who  knew  and  liked  the  surgeon,  whirled 
again  on  him  with  eyes  that  looked  not  like  at  all. 


96  AN  APACHE  PRINCESS 

The  doctor  turned,  his  somber  gaze  following  the  now 
distant  figure  of  the  post  commander,  struggling  pain 
fully  up  the  yielding  sand  of  the  steep  slope  to  the  plateau. 
The  stretcher  bearers  and  attendants  were  striding  away 
to  hospital  with  the  now  unconscious  burden.  The  few 
men,  lingering  close  at  hand,  were  grouped  about  the 
dead  Apaches.  The  gathering  watchers  along  the  bank 
were  beyond  earshot.  Staff  officer  and  surgeon  were 
practically  alone  and  the  latter  answered : 

"  I  mean,  sir,  that  if  that  Apache  knife  had  been  driven 
in  by  an  Apache  warrior,  Mullins  would  have  been  dead 
long  hours  ago — which  he  isn't." 

Byrne  turned  a  shade  grayer. 

"  Could  she  have  done  that?  "  he  asked,  with  one  side 
ward  jerk  of  his  head  toward  the  major's  quarters. 

"  I'm  not  saying,"  quoth  the  Scot.  "  I'm  asking  was 
there  anyone  else?" 


CHAPTER  IX 

A  CARPET  KNIGHT,   INDEED 

THE  flag  at  Camp  Sandy  drooped  from  the  peak. 
Except  by  order  it  never  hung  halfway.  The 
flag  at  the  agency  fluttered  no  higher  than  the 
cross-trees,  telling  that  Death  had  loved  some  shining 
mark  and  had  not  sued  in  vain.  Under  this  symbol  of 
mourning,  far  up  the  valley,  the  interpreter  was  telling  to 
a  circle  of  dark,  sullen,  and  unresponsive  faces  a  fact  that 
every  Apache  knew  before.  Under  the  full-masted  flag 
at  the  post,  a  civilian  servant  of  the  nation  lay  garbed  for 
burial.  Poor  Daly  had  passed  away  with  hardly  a  chance 
to  tell  his  tale,  with  only  a  loving,  weeping  woman  or  two 
to  mourn  him.  Over  the  camp  the  shadow  of  death  tem 
pered  the  dazzling  sunshine,  for  all  Sandy  felt  the  strain 
and  spoke  only  with  sorrow.  He  meant  well,  did  Daly, 
that  was  accorded  him  now.  He  only  lacked 
"  savvy  "  said  they  who  had  dwelt  long  in  the  land  of 
Apache. 

Over  at  the  hospital  two  poor  women  wept,  and  twice 
their  number  strove  to  soothe.  Janet  Wren  and  Mrs. 
Graham  were  there,  as  ever,  when  sorrow  and  trouble 
came.  Mrs.  Sanders  and  Mrs.  Cutler,  too,  were  hover 
ing  about  the  mourners,  doing  what  they  could,  and  the 
hospital  matron,  busy  day  and  night  of  late,  had  never 

97 


^B  AN  APACHE  PRINCESS 

left  her  patient  until  he  needed  her  no  more,  and  then  had 
turned  to  minister  to  those  he  left  behind — the  widow  and 
the  fatherless.  Over  on  the  shaded  verandas  other 
women  met  and  murmured  in  the  soft,  sympathetic  drawl 
appropriate  to  funereal  occasion,  and  men  nodded  silently 
to  each  other.  Death  was  something  these  latter  saw  so 
frequently  it  brought  but  little  of  terror.  Other  things 
were  happening  of  far  greater  moment  that  they  could  not 
fathom  at  all. 

Captain  Wren,  after  four  days  of  close  arrest,  had 
been  released  by  the  order  of  Major  Plume  himself,  who, 
pending  action  on  his  application  for  leave  of  absence, 
had  gone  on  sick  report  and  secluded  himself  within  his 
quarters.  It  was  rumored  that  Mrs.  Plume  was  seriously 
ill,  so  ill,  indeed,  she  had  to  be  denied  to  every  one  of  the 
sympathizing  women  who  called,  even  to  Janet,  sister  of 
their  soldier  next-door  neighbor,  but  recently  a  military 
prisoner,  yet  now,  by  law  and  custom,  commander  of  the 
post. 

Several  things  had  conspired  to  bring  about  this  con 
dition  of  affairs.  Byrne,  to  begin  with,  had  been  closely 
questioning  Shannon,  and  had  reached  certain  conclusions 
with  regard  to  the  stabbing  of  Mullins  that  were  laid  be 
fore  Plume,  already  stunned  by  the  knowledge  that,  sleep 
ing  as  his  friendly  advisers  declared,  or  waking,  as  his 
inner  consciousness  would  have  it,  Clarice,  his  young  and 
still  beautiful  wife,  had  left  her  pillow  and  gone  by  night 
toward  the  northern  limit  of  the  line  of  quarters.  If 
Wren  were  tried,  or  even  accused,  that  fact  would  be  the 


A  CARPET  KNIGHT,  INDEED  09 

first  urged  in  his  defense.  Plume's  stern  accusation  of 
Elise  had  evoked  from  her  nothing  but  a  voluble  storm 
of  protest.  Madame  was  ill,  sleepless,  nervous — had  gone 
forth  to  walk  away  her  nervousness.  She,  Elise,  had 
gone  in  search  and  brought  her  home.  Downs,  the 
wretch,  when  as  stoutly  questioned,  declared  he  had  been 
blind  drunk ;  saw  nobody,  knew  nothing,  and  must  have 
taken  the  lieutenant's  whisky.  Plume  shrank  from  ask 
ing  Norah  questions.  He  could  not  bring  himself  to  talk 
ing  of  his  wife  to  the  girl  of  the  laundresses'  quarters, 
but  he  knew  now  that  he  must  drop  that  much  of  the  case 
against  Wren. 

Then  came  the  final  blow.  Byrne  had  gone  to  the 
agency,  making  every  effort  through  runners,  with 
promises  of  immunity,  to  coax  back  the  renegades  to  the 
reservation,  and  so  avert  another  Apache  war.  Plume,  in 
sore  perplexity,  was  praying  for  the  complete  restoration 
of  Mullins — the  only  thing  that  could  avert  investigation 
— when,  as  he  entered  his  office  the  morning  of  this 
eventful  day,  Doty's  young  face  was  eloquent  with 
news. 

One  of  the  first  things  done  by  Lieutenant  Blakely 
when  permitted  by  Dr.  Graham  to  sit  and  speak,  was  to 
dictate  a  letter  to  the  post  adjutant,  the  original  of  which, 
together  with  the  archives  of  Camp  Sandy,  was  long  since 
buried  among  the  hidden  treasures  of  the  War  Depart 
ment.  The  following  is  a  copy  of  the  paper  placed  by 
Mr.  Doty  in  the  major's  hands  even  before  he  could 
reach  his  desk : 


100  AN  APACHE  PRINCESS 

CAMP  SANDY,  A.  T., 
October—,  187— 
LIEUTENANT  J.  J.  DOTY, 
8th  U.  S.  Infantry, 

Post  Adjutant. 

Sir :  I  have  the  honor  to  submit  for  the  consideration  of  the 
post  commander,  the  following: 

Shortly  after  retreat  on  the  — th  inst.  I  was  suddenly  accosted 
in  my  quarters  by  Captain  Robert  Wren,  — th  Cavalry,  and  ac 
cused  of  an  act  of  treachery  to  him; — an  accusation  which  called 
forth  instant  and  indignant  denial.  He  had,  as  I  now  have 
cause  to  know,  most  excellent  reason  for  believing  his  charge  to 
be  true,  and  the  single  blow  he  dealt  me  was  the  result  of  intense 
and  natural  wrath.  That  the  consequences  were  so  serious  he 
could  not  have  foreseen. 

As  the  man  most  injured  in  the  affair,  I  earnestly  ask  that  no 
charges  be  preferred.  Were  we  in  civil  life  I  should  refuse  to 
prosecute,  and,  if  the  case  be  brought  before  a  court-martial  it 
will  probably  fail— for  lack  of  evidence. 

Very  Respectfully, 

Your  Obedient  Servant, 

NEIL  D.  BLAKELY, 
ist  Lieut.,  — th  Cavalry. 

Now,  Doty  had  been  known  to  hold  his  tongue  when  a 
harmful  story  might  be  spread,  but  he  could  no  more  sup 
press  his  rejoicing  over  this  than  he  could  the  impulse  to 
put  it  in  slang.     "  Say,  aint  this  just  a  corker?  "  said  this 
ingenuous  youth,  as  he  spread  it  on  his  desk  for  Graham's 
grimly  gleaming  eyes.     Plume  had  read  it  in  dull,  apa 
thetic,  unseeing  fashion.     It  was  the  morning  after  the 
Apache  emeute.     Plume  had  stared  hard  at  his  adjutant 
a  moment,  then,  whipping  up  the  sun  hat  that  he  had 
dropped  on  his  desk,  and  merely  saying,  "  I'll  return- 
shortly,"  had  sped  to  his  darkened  quarters  and  not  for 
an  hour  had  he  reappeared.     Then  the  first  thing  he  asked 


A  CARPET  KNIGHT,  INDEED  101 

for  was  that  letter  of  Mr.  Blakely  s,  winch,'  this'- f-iriie/lic 
read  with  lips  compressed  and  twitching  a  bit  at  the  cor 
ners.  Then  he  called  for  a  telegraph  blank  and  sent  a 
wire  to  intercept  Byrne  at  the  agency.  "  I  shall  turn  over 
command  to  Wren  at  noon.  I'm  too  ill  for  further  duty," 
was  all  he  said.  Byrne  read  the  rest  between  the  lines. 

But  Graham  went  straightway  to  the  quarters  of  Cap 
tain  Wren,  a  rough  pencil  copy  of  that  most  unusual 
paper  in  his  hand.  "  R-robert  Wren,"  said  he,  as  he 
entered,  unknocking  and  unannounced,  "  will  ye  listen  to 
this?  Nay,  Angela,  lass,  don't  go."  When  strongly 
moved,  as  we  have  seen,  our  doctor  dropped  to  the  border 
land  of  dialect. 

In  the  dim  light  from  the  shaded  windows  he  had  not 
at  first  seen  the  girl.  She  was  seated  on  a  footstool,  her 
hands  on  her  father's  knee,  her  fond  face  gazing  up  into 
his,  and  that  strong,  bony  hand  of  his  resting  on  her  head 
and  toying  with  the  ribbon,  the  "  snood,"  as  he  loved  to 
call  it,  with  which  she  bound  her  abundant  tresses.  At 
sound  of  the  doctor's  voice,  Janet,  ever  apprehensive  of 
ill,  had  come  forth  from  the  dining  room,  silver  brush 
and  towel  in  hand,  and  stood  at  the  doorway,  gazing 
austerely.  She  could  not  yet  forgive  her  brother's  friend 
his  condemnation  of  her  methods  as  concerned  her 
brother's  child.  Angela,  rising  to  her  full  height,  stood 
with  one  hand  on  the  back  of  her  father's  chair,  the  other 
began  softly  stroking  the  grizzled  crop  from  his  furrowed 
forehead. 

No  one  spoke  a  word  as  Graham  began  and  slowly,  to 


102  AN  APACHE  PRINCESS 

the  uttermost  line,  read  his  draft  of  Blakely's  missive. 
No  one  spoke  for  a  moment  after  he  had  finished. 
Angela,  with  parted  lips  and  dilated  eyes,  had  stood  at 
first  drinking  in  each  syllable,  then,  with  heaving  bosom, 
she  slowly  turned,  her  left  hand  falling  by  her  side. 
Wren  sat  in  silence,  his  deep-set  eyes  glowering  on  the 
grim  reader,  a  dazed  look  on  his  rugged  face.  Then  he 
reached  up  and  drew  the  slim,  tremulous  hand  from  his 
forehead  and  snuggled  it  against  his  stubbly  cheek,  and 
still  he  could  not  speak.  Janet  slowly  backed  away  into 
the  darkness  of  the  dining  room.  The  situation  had  soft 
ening  tendencies  and  Janet's  nature  revolted  at  sen 
timent.  It  was  Graham's  voice  that  again  broke  the 
silence. 

"  For  a  vain  carpet  knight,  '  whose  best  boast  was  to 
wear  a  braid  of  his  fair  lady's  hair/  it  strikes  me  our 
butterfly  chaser  has  some  points  of  a  gentleman,"  said  he, 
slowly  folding  his  paper.  "  I  might  say  more,"  he  con 
tinued  presently,  retiring  toward  the  hall.  Then,  paus 
ing  at  the  doorway,  "  but  I  won't,"  he  concluded,  and 
abruptly  vanished. 

An  hour  later,  when  Janet  in  person  went  to  answer  a 
knock  at  the  door,  she  glanced  in  at  the  parlor  as  she 
passed,  and  that  peep  revealed  Angela  again  seated  on  her 
footstool,  with  her  bonny  head  pillowed  on  her  father's 
knee,  his  hand  again  toying  with  the  glossy  tresses,  and 
both  father  and  child  looked  up,  expectant.  Yes,  there 
stood  the  young  adjutant,  officially  equipped  with  belt  and 
sword  and  spotless  gloves.  "  Can  I  see  the  captain  ?  "  he 


A  CARPET  KNIGHT,  INDEED  103 

asked,  lifting  his  natty  kepi,  and  the  captain  arose  and 
strode  to  the  door. 

"  Major  Plume  presents  his  compliments — and  this 
letter,  sir,"  stammered  the  youth,  blushing,  too,  at  sight 
of  Angela,  beaming  on  him  from  the  parlor  door.  "  And 
— you're  in  command,  sir.  The  major  has  gone  on  sick 
report." 

That  evening  a  solemn  cortege  filed  away  down  the 
winding  road  to  the  northward  flats  and  took  the  route  to 
the  little  cemetery,  almost  all  the  garrison  following  to  the 
grave  all  that  was  mortal  of  the  hapless  agent.  Byrne, 
returned  from  the  agency,  was  there  to  represent  the  gen 
eral  commanding  the  department.  Wren  stalked  sol 
emnly  beside  him  as  commander  of  the  post.  Even  the 
women  followed,  tripping  daintily  through  the  sand. 
Graham  watched  them  from  the  porch  of  the  post  hospital. 
He  could  not  long  leave  Mullins,  tossing  in  fever  and 
delirium.  He  had  but  recently  left  Lieutenant  Blakely, 
sitting  up  and  placidly  busying  himself  in  patching  butter 
fly  wings,  and  Blakely  had  even  come  to  the  front  door  to 
look  at  the  distant  gathering  of  decorous  mourners.  But 
the  bandaged  head  was  withdrawn  as  two  tall,  feminine 
forms  came  gravely  up  the  row,  one  so  prim  and  almost 
antique,  the  other  so  lithe  and  lissome.  He  retreated  to 
the  front  room,  and  with  the  one  available  eye  at  the 
veiled  window,  followed  her,  the  latter,  until  the  white 
flowing  skirt  was  swept  from  the  field  of  his  vision.  He 
had  stood  but  a  few  hours  previous  on  the  spot  where  he 
had  received  that  furious  blow  five  nights  before,  and  this 


104  AN  APACHE  PRINCESS 

time,  with  cordial  grasp,  had  taken  the  huge  hand  that 
dealt  it  between  his  white  and  slender  palms.  "  Forgive 
us  our  trespasses  as  we  forgive  those,"  Wren  had  mur 
mured,  as  he  read  the  deeply  regretful  words  of  his  late 
accuser  and  commander,  for  had  not  he  in  his  turn,  and 
without  delay,  also  to  eat  humble  pie  ?  There  was  some 
thing  almost  pathetic  in  the  attitude  of  the  big  soldier  as 
he  came  to  the  darkened  room  and  stood  before  his  junior 
and  subordinate,  but  the  latter  had  stilled  the  broken, 
clumsy,  faltering  words  with  which  this  strong,  masterful 
man  was  striving  to  make  amend  for  bitter  wrong.  "  I 
won't  listen  to  more,  Captain  Wren,"  he  said.  "  You 
had  reasons  I  never  dreamed  of — then.  Our  eyes  have 
been  opened  "  (one  of  his  was  still  closed).  "  You  have 
said  more  than  enough.  Let  us  start  afresh  now — with 
better  understanding." 

"  It — it  is  generous  in  you,  Blakely.  I  misjudged 
everything — everybody,  and  now, — well,  you  know  there 
are  still  Hotspurs  in  the  service.  I'm  thinking  some  man 
may  be  ass  enough  to  say  you  got  a  blow  without  re 
senting " 

Blakely  smiled,  a  contorted  and  disunited  smile,  per 
haps,  and  one  much  trammeled  by  adhesive  plaster.  Yet 
there  was  placid  unconcern  in  the  visible  lines  of  his  pale 
face.  "  I  think  I  shall  know  how  to  answer,"  said  he. 
And  so  for  the  day,  and  without  mention  of  the  name 
uppermost  in  the  thoughts  of  each,  the  two  had  parted — 
for  the  first  time  as  friends. 

But  the  night  was  yet  to  come. 


CHAPTER  X. 

fALK-IN-THE-NIGHT  "   AGAIN 

SO  swift  had  been  the  succession  of  events  since  the 
first  day  of  the  week,  few  of  the  social  set  at  Sandy 
could  quite  realize,  much  less  fathom,  all  that  had 
happened,  and  as  they  gathered  on  the  verandas,  in  the 
cool  of  the  evening  after  Daly's  funeral,  the  trend  of  talk 
was  all  one  way.  A  man  who  might  have  thrown  light 
on  certain  matters  at  issue  had  been  spirited  away,  and 
there  were  women  quite  ready  to  vow  it  was  done  simply 
to  get  him  beyond  range  of  their  questioning.  Sergeant 
Shannon  had  been  sent  to  the  agency  on  some  mission 
prescribed  by  Colonel  Byrne.  It  was  almost  the  last  order 
issued  by  Major  Plume  before  turning  over  the  command. 
Byrne  himself  still  lingered  at  the  post,  "  watching  the 
situation,"  as  it  was  understood,  and  in  constant  tele 
graphic  correspondence  with  the  general  at  Prescott  and 
the  commander  of  the  little  guard  over  the  agency  build 
ings  at  the  reservation — Lieutenant  Bridger,  of  the  In 
fantry.  With  a  sergeant  and  twenty  men  that  young 
officer  had  been  dispatched  to  that  point  immediately 
after  the  alarming  and  unlooked-for  catastrophe  of  the 
reveille  outbreak.  Catastrophe  was  what  Byrne  called  it, 
and  he  meant  what  he  said,  not  so  much  because  it  had 
cost  the  life  of  Daly,  the  agent,  whose  mistaken  zeal  had 

105 


106  AN  APACHE  PRINCESS 

precipitated  the  whole  misunderstanding,  but  rather  be 
cause  of  the  death  of  two  such  prominent  young  warriors 
as  "  Shield  "  and  his  friend,  who  had  fallen  after  dealing 
the  fatal  blow  to  him  who  had  laid  violent  hands,  so  they 
regarded  it,  on  two  young  girls,  one  a  chieftain's  daughter 
and  both  objects  of  reverent  and  savagely  sentimental 
interest.  "  If  war  doesn't  come  at  once,"  said  Byrne,  "  it 
will  be  because  the  Apache  has  a  new  sense  or  a  deep-laid 
scheme.  Look  out  for  him." 

No  news  as  yet  had  come  from  the  runners  sent  forth  in 
search  of  the  scattered  fugitives,  who  would  soon  be 
flocking  together  again  in  the  fastnesses  of  the  Mogollon 
to  the  east  or  the  Red  Rock  country  northward — the  latter 
probably,  as  being  nearer  their  friends  at  the  reservation 
and  farther  from  the  few  renegade  Tontos  lurking  in  the 
mountains  toward  Fort  Apache.  Byrne's  promise  to  the 
wanderers,  sent  by  these  runners,  was  to  the  effect  that 
they  would  be  safe  from  any  prosecution  if  they  would 
return  at  once  to  the  agency  and  report  themselves  to  the 
interpreter  and  the  lieutenant  commanding  the  guard. 
He  would  not,  he  said,  be  answerable  for  what  might 
happen  if  they  persisted  in  remaining  at  large.  But  when 
it  was  found  that,  so  far  from  any  coming  in,  there  were 
many  going  out,  and  that  Natzie's  father  and  brother  had 
already  gone,  Byrne's  stout  heart  sank.  The  message 
came  by  wire  from  the  agency  not  long  after  the  return 
of  the  funeral  party,  and  while  the  evening  was  yet  young. 
He  sent  at  once  for  Wren,  and,  seated  on  the  major's  front 
piazza,  with  an  orderly  hovering  just  out  of  earshot,  ancl 


"  WOMAN-WALK-IN-THE-NIGHT  "  AGAIN  107 

with  many  an  eye  anxiously  watching  them  along  the 
row,  the  two  veterans  were  holding  earnest  conference. 
Major  Plume  was  at  the  bedside  of  his  wife,  so  said  Gra 
ham  when  he  came  down  about  eight.  Mrs.  Plume,  he 
continued,  was  at  least  no  worse,  but  very  nervous.  Then 
he  took  himself  back  to  the  hospital. 

Another  topic  of  talk  along  the  line  was  Blakely's  watch 
and  its  strange  recovery,  and  many  were  the  efforts  to 
learn  what  Blakely  himself  had  to  say  about  it.  The 
officers,  nearly  all  of  them,  of  course,  had  been  at  inter 
vals  to  see  Blakely  and  inquire  if  there  were  not  some 
thing  that  they  could  do,  this  being  the  conventional  and 
proper  thing,  and  they  who  talked  with  him,  with  hardly 
an  exception,  led  up  to  the  matter  of  the  watch  and  wished 
to  know  how  he  accounted  for  its  being  there  on  the  post 
of  No.  5.  It  was  observed  that,  upon  this  topic  and  the 
stabbing  of  Private  Mullins,  Mr.  Blakely  was  oddly  reti 
cent.  He  had  nothing  whatever  to  suggest  as  explana 
tion  of  either  matter.  The  watch  was  taken  from  the 
inner  pocket  of  his  thin  white  coat  as  he  lay  asleep  at  the 
pool,  of  this  he  felt  confident,  but  by  whom  he  would  not 
pretend  to  say.  Everybody  knew  by  this  time  that  An 
gela  Wren  had  seen  him  sleeping,  and  had,  in  a  spirit  of 
playful  mischief,  fetched  away  his  butterfly  net,  but  who 
would  accuse  Angela  of  taking  his  watch  and  money? 
Of  course  such  things  had  been,  said  one  or  two  wise 
heads,  but — not  with  girls  like  Angela. 

But  who  could  say  what,  all  this  while,  Angela  herself 
was  thinking?  Once  upon  a  time  it  had  been  the  way  of 


108  AN  APACHE  PRINCESS 

our  young  folk  well  over  the  North  and  West  to  claim 
forfeit  in  the  game  of  "  Catching  the  weasel  asleep." 
There  had  been  communities,  indeed,  and  before  co 
education  became  a  fad  at  certain  of  our  great  universities, 
wherein  the  maid  caught  napping  could  hold  it  no  sin 
against  watchful  swain,  or  even  against  her,  that  he  then 
and  there  imprinted  on  her  lips  a  kiss.  On  the  other 
hand,  the  swain  found  sleeping  might  not  always  expect  a 
kiss,  but  must  pay  the  penalty,  a  pair  of  dainty  gloves. 
Many  a  forfeit,  both  lip  and  glove,  had  there  been  claimed 
and  allowed  in  army  days  whereof  we  write,  and  Angela, 
stealing  upon  Blakely  as  he  dozed  beneath  the  willows, 
and  liking  him  well  and  deploring  her  father's  pronounced 
aversion  to  him — perhaps  even  resenting  it  an  unduti- 
ful  bit — had  found  it  impossible  to  resist  the  temptation  to 
softly  disengage  that  butterfly  net  from  the  loosely  clasp 
ing  fingers,  and  swiftly,  stealthily,  delightedly  to  scamper 
away  with  it  against  his  waking.  It  was  of  this  very  ex 
ploit,  never  dreaming  of  the  fateful  consequences,  she  and 
Kate  Sanders  were  so  blissfully  bubbling  over,  fairly 
shaking  with  maiden  merriment  when  the  despoiled  victim, 
homeward  bound,  caught  sight  of  them  upon  the  mesa. 
Ten  minutes  more,  and  in  full  force  she  had  been  made  to 
feel  the  blow  of  her  father's  fierce  displeasure.  Twenty 
minutes  more,  and,  under  the  blow  of  her  father's  furious 
wrath,  Blakely  had  been  felled  like  a  log. 

When  with  elongated  face  and  exaggerated  gloom  of 
manner  Aunt  Janet  came  to  make  her  realize  the  awful 
consequences  of  her  crime,  Angela's  first  impulse  had  been 


"  WOMAN-WALK-IN-THE-NIGHT  "  AGAIN  109 

to  cry  out  against  her  father's  unreasoning  rage.  When 
she  learned  that  he  was  in  close  arrest, — to  be  tried,  doubt 
less,  for  his  mad  assault, — in  utter  revulsion  of  feeling, 
in  love  and  tenderness,  in  grief  and  contrition  inexpressi 
ble,  she  had  thrown  herself  at  his  feet  and,  clasping  his 
knees,  had  sobbed  her  heart  out  in  imploring  his  forgive 
ness  for  what  she  called  her  wicked,  heedless,  heartless 
conduct.  No  one  saw  that  blessed  meeting,  that  scene  of 
mutual  forgiveness,  of  sweet  reconciliation;  too  sweet 
and  serene,  indeed,  for  Janet's  stern  and  Calvinistic 
mold. 

Are  we  ever  quite  content,  I  wonder,  that  others' 
bairnies  should  be  so  speedily,  so  entirely,  forgiven  ?  All 
because  of  this  had  all  Janet's  manifestations  of  sympathy 
for  Robert  to  be  tempered  with  a  fine  reserve.  As  for 
Angela,  it  would  never  do  to  let  the  child  so  soon  forget 
that  this  should  be  an  awful  lesson.  Aunt  Janet's  man 
ner,  therefore,  when,  butterfly  net  in  hand,  she  required 
of  her  niece  full  explanation  of  the  presence  in  the  room 
of  this  ravished  trophy,  was  something  fraught  with  far 
too  much  of  future  punishment,  of  wrath  eternal.  Even 
in  her  chastened  mood  Angela's  spirit  stood  en  garde. 
"  I  have  told  father  everything,  auntie,"  she  declared. 
"  I  leave  it  all  to  him,"  and  bore  in  silence  the  comments, 
without  the  utterance  of  which  the  elder  vestal  felt  she 
could  not  conscientiously  quit  the  field.  "  Bold,"  "  im 
modest,"  "  unmaidenly,"  "  wanton,"  were  a  choice  few  of 
Aunt  Janet's  expletives,  and  these  were  unresented.  But 
when  she  concluded  with  "  I  shall  send  this — thing  to 


110  AN  APACHE  PRINCESS 

him  at  once,  with  my  personal  apologies  for  the  act  of  an 
irresponsible  child,"  up  sprang  Angela  with  rebellion 
flashing  from  her  eyes.  She  had  suffered  punishment  as 
a  woman.  She  would  not  now  be  treated  as  a  child.  To 
Janet's  undisguised  amaze  and  disapprobation,  Wren  de 
cided  that  Angela  herself  should  send  both  apology  and 
net.  It  was  the  first  missive  of  the  kind  she  had  ever 
written,  but,  even  so,  she  would  not  submit  it  for  either 
advice  or  criticism — even  though  its  composition  cost  her 
many  hours  and  tears  and  sheets  of  paper.  No  one  but 
the  recipient  had  so  much  as  a  peep  at  it,  but  when  Blakely 
read  it  a  grave  smile  lighted  his  pallid  and  still  bandaged 
face.  He  stowed  the  little  note  in  his  desk,  and  presently 
took  it  out  and  read  it  again,  and  still  again,  and  then  it 
went  slowly  into  the  inner  pocket  of  his  white  sack  coat 
and  was  held  there,  while  he,  the  wearer,  slowly  paced  up 
and  down  the  veranda  late  in  the  starlit  night.  This  was 
the  evening  of  Daly's  funeral,  the  evening  of  the  day  on 
which  he  and  his  captain  had  shaken  hands  and  were  to 
start  afresh  with  better  understanding. 

Young  Duane  was  officer  of  the  day  and,  after  the 
tattoo  inspection  of  his  little  guard,  had  gone  for  a  few 
minutes  to  the  hospital  where  Mullins  lay  muttering  and 
tossing  in  his  feverish  sleep;  then,  meeting  Wren  and 
Graham  on  the  way,  had  tramped  over  to  call  on  Blakely, 
thinking,  perhaps,  to  chat  a  while  and  learn  something. 
Soon  after  "  taps  "  was  sounded,  however,  the  youngster 
joined  the  little  group  gossiping  in  guarded  tones  on  the 
porch  at  Captain  Sanders',  far  down  the  row,  and,  in  re- 


"  WOMAN- WALK-IN-THE-NIGHT  »  AGAIN  111 

sponse  to  question,  said  that  "  Bugs  " — that  being  Blake- 
ly's  briefest  nom  de  guerre — must  be  convalescing  rapidly, 
he  "  had  no  use  for  his  friends,"  and,  as  the  lad  seemed 
somewhat  ruffled  and  resentful,  what  more  natural  than 
that  he  should  be  called  upon  for  explanation?  Sanders 
and  his  wife  were  present,  and  Mrs.  Bridger,  very  much 
alive  with  inquiry  and  not  a  little  malicious  interest.  Kate, 
too,  was  of  the  party,  and  Doty,  the  adjutant,  and  Mes- 
dames  Cutler  and  Westervelt — it  was  so  gloomy  and 
silent,  said  these  latter,  at  their  end  of  the  row.  Much 
of  the  talk  had  been  about  Mrs.  Plume's  illness  and  her 
"  sleep-walking  act,"  as  it  had  been  referred  to,  and  many 
had  thought,  but  few  had  spoken,  of  her  possible  presence 
on  the  post  of  No.  5  about  the  time  that  No.  5  was  stabbed. 
They  knew  she  couldn't  have  done  it,  of  course,  but  then 
how  strange  that  she  should  have  been  there  at  all !  The 
story  had  gained  balloon-like  expanse  by  this  time,  and 
speculation  was  more  than  rife.  But  here  was  Duane 
with  a  new  grievance  which,  when  put  into  Duane's  Eng 
lish,  reduced  itself  to  this :  "  Why,  it  was  like  as  if  Bugs 
wanted  to  get  rid  of  me  and  expected  somebody  else,"  and 
this  they  well  remembered  later.  Nobody  else  was  ob 
served  going  to  Blakely's  front  door,  at  least,  but  at 
eleven  o'clock  he  himself  could  still  be  dimly  heard  and 
seen  pacing  steadily  up  and  down  his  piazza,  apparently 
alone  and  deep  in  thought.  His  lights,  too,  were  turned 
down,  a  new  man  from  the  troop  having  asked  for  and 
assumed  the  duties  formerly  devolving  on  the  wretch 
Downs,  now  doing  time  within  the  garrison  prison.  Be- 


112  AN  APACHE  PRINCESS 

fore  eleven,  however,  this  new  martial  domestic  had  gone 
upstairs  to  bed  and  Blakely  was  all  alone,  which  was  as 
he  wished  it,  for  he  had  things  to  plan  and  other  things 
to  think  of  that  lifted  him  above  the  possibility  of  loneli 
ness. 

Down  the  line  of  officers'  quarters  only  in  two  or  three 
houses  could  lights  be  seen.  Darkness  reigned  at 
Plume's,  where  Byrne  was  still  rooming.  Darkness 
reigned  at  Wren's  and  Graham's,  despite  the  fact  that  the 
lords  of  these  manors  were  still  abroad,  both  at  the  bed 
side  of  Trooper  Mullins.  A  dozen  people  were  gathered 
by  this  time  at  Sanders'.  All  the  other  verandas,  except 
Blakely's  with  its  solitary  watcher,  seemed  deserted.  To 
these  idlers  of  the  soft  and  starlit  night,  sitting  bare 
headed  about  the  gallery  and  chatting  in  the  friendly  way 
of  the  frontier,  there  came  presently  a  young  soldier  from 
the  direction  of  the  adjutant's  office  at  the  south  end. 
"  The  night  operator,"  he  explained.  "  Two  dispatches 
have  just  come  for  Colonel  Byrne,  and  I  thought 
maybe " 

"No,  Cassidy,"  said  Doty.  "The  colonel  is  at  his 
quarters.  Dispatch,  is  it?  Perhaps  I'd  better  go  with 
you,"  and,  rising,  the  young  officer  led  the  way,  entering 
on  tiptoe  the  hall  of  the  middle  house  where,  far  back  on 
a  table,  a  lamp  was  burning  low.  Tapping  at  an  inner 
door,  he  was  bidden  to  enter.  Byrne  was  in  bed,  a  single 
sheet  over  his  burly  form,  but  he  lay  wide  awake.  He 
took  the  first  dispatch  and  tore  it  open  eagerly.  It  was 
from  Bridger  at  the  agency : 


"  WOMAN-WALK-IN-THE-NIGHT  "  AGAIN   113 

Runners  just  in  say  Natzie  and  Lola  had  turned  back  from 
trail  to  Montezuma  Well,  refusing  to  go  further  from  their  dead. 
Can  probably  be  found  if  party  go  at  dawn  or  sooner.  Alchisay 
with  them.  More  Indians  surely  going  out  from  here. 

Byrne's  brow  contracted  and  his  lips  compressed,  but 
he  gave  no  other  sign.  "  Is  Captain  Wren  still  up  ?  "  he 
briefly  asked,  as  he  reached  for  the  other  dispatch. 

"  Over  at  the  hospital,  sir,"  said  Doty,  and  watched  this 
famous  campaigner's  face  as  he  ripped  open  the  second 
brown  envelope.  This  time  he  was  half  out  of  bed  before 
he  could  have  half  finished  even  that  brief  message.  It 
was  from  the  general : 

News  of  trouble  must  have  reached  Indians  at  San  Carlos. 
Much  excitement  there  and  at  Apache.  Shall  start  for  Camp 
McDowell  to-morrow  as  soon  as  I  have  seen  Plume.  He  should 
come  early. 

The  colonel  was  in  his  slippers  and  inexpressibles  in 
less  than  no  time,  but  Plume  aloft  had  heard  the  muffled 
sounds  from  the  lower  floor,  and  was  down  in  a  moment. 
Without  a  word  Byrne  handed  him  the  second  message 
and  waited  until  he  had  read,  then  asked :  "  Can  you  start 
at  dawn?" 

"  I  can  start  now,"  was  the  instant  reply.  "  Our  best 
team  can  make  it  in  ten  hours.  Order  out  the  Concord, 
Mr.  Doty."  And  Doty  vanished. 

"  But  Mrs.  Plume "  began  the  colonel  tenta 
tively. 

"  Mrs.  Plume  simply  needs  quiet  and  to  be  let  alone," 
was  the  joyless  answer.  "  I  think  perhaps — I  am 
rather  in  the  way." 


114  AN  APACHE  PRINCESS 

"  Well,  I  know  the  general  will  appreciate  your  prompt 
ness.  I — did  not  know  you  had  asked  to  see  him,"  and 
Byrne  looked  up  from  under  his  shaggy  brows. 

"  I  hadn't  exactly,  but  my  letter  intimated  as  much. 
There  is  so  very  much  I — I  cannot  write  about — that  of 
course  he's  bound  to  hear, — I  don't  mean  you,  Colonel 
Byrne, — and  he  ought  to  know  the — facts.  Now  I'll  get 
ready  at  once  and — see  you  before  starting." 

"  Better  take  an  escort,  Plume." 

"  One  man  on  driver's  seat.  That's  all,  sir.  I'll  come 
in  presently,  in  case  you  have  anything  to  send,"  said 
Plume,  and  hurried  again  upstairs. 

It  was  barely  midnight  when  Plume's  big  black  wagon, 
the  Concord,  all  spring  and  hickory,  as  said  the  post  quar 
termaster,  went  whirling  away  behind  its  strapping  team 
of  four  huge  Missouri  mules.  It  was  12.30  by  the  guard 
house  clock  and  the  call  of  the  sentries  when  Wren  came 
home  to  find  Angela,  her  long,  luxuriant  hair  tumbling 
down  over  her  soft,  white  wrapper,  waiting  for  him  at  the 
front  door.  From  her  window  she  had  seen  him  coming ; 
had  noted  the  earlier  departure  of  the  wagon ;  had  heard 
the  voice  of  Major  Plume  bidding  good-by,  and  won 
dered  what  it  meant — this  midnight  start  of  the  senior 
officer  of  the  post.  She  had  been  sitting  there  silent, 
studying  the  glittering  stars,  and  wondering  would  there 
be  an  answer  to  her  note?  Would  he  be  able  to  write 
just  yet?  Was  there  reason,  really,  why  he  should  write, 
after  all  that  had  passed?  Somehow  she  felt  that  write 
he  certainly  would,  and  soon,  and  the  thought  kept  her 


"  WOMAN-WALK-IN-THE-NIGHT  "  AGAIN  115 

from  sleeping.  It  was  because  she  was  anxious  about 
Mullins,  so  she  told  herself  and  told  her  father,  that  she 
had  gone  fluttering  down  to  meet  him  at  the  door.  But 
no  sooner  had  he  answered,  "  Still  delirious  and  yet  hold 
ing  his  own,"  than  she  asked  where  and  why  Major  Plume 
had  gone. 

"  The  general  wired  for  him,"  answered  Wren.  "  And 
what  is  my  tall  girlie  doing,  spiering  from  windows  this 
time  of  night?  Go  to  bed,  child."  She  may  be  losing 
beauty  sleep,  but  not  her  beauty,  thought  he  fondly,  as 
she  as  fondly  kissed  him  and  turned  to  obey.  Then  came 
a  heavy  footfall  on  the  gallery  without,  and  a  dark  form, 
erect  and  soldierly,  stood  between  them  and  the  dim 
lights  of  the  guard-house.  It  was  a  corporal  of  the 
guard. 

"  No.  4,  sir,  reports  he  heard  shots — two — way  up  the 
valley." 

"Good  God!"  Wren  began,  then  throttled  the  ex 
pletive  half  spoken.  Could  they  have  dared  waylay  the 
major — and  so  close  to  the  post?  A  moment  more  and 
he  was  hurrying  over  to  his  troop  quarters ;  five  minutes, 
and  a  sergeant  and  ten  men  were  running  with  him  to  the 
stables;  ten,  and  a  dozen  horses,  swiftly  saddled,  were 
being  led  into  the  open  starlight;  fifteen,  and  they  were 
away  at  a  lunging  bronco  lope,  a  twisting  column  of  twos 
along  the  sandy  road,  leaving  the  garrison  to  wake  and 
wonder.  Three,  four,  five  miles  they  sped,  past  Boulder 
Point,  past  Rattlesnake  Hill,  and  still  no  sign  of  any 
thing  amiss,  no  symptom  of  night-raiding  Apache,  for  in- 


116  AN  APACHE  PRINCESS 

deed  the  Apache  dreads  the  dark.  Thrice  the  sergeant 
had  sprung  from  his  horse,  lighted  a  match,  and  studied 
the  trail.  On  and  on  had  gone  the  mules  and  wagon 
without  apparent  break  or  interruption,  until,  far  beyond 
the  bluff  that  hid  the  road  from  sight  of  all  at  Sandy,  they 
had  begun  the  long,  tortuous  climb  of  the  divide  to  Cherry 
Creek.  No.  4  might  have  heard  shots,  but,  if  intended 
for  the  wagon,  they  had  been  harmless.  It  was  long  after 
one  when  Wren  gave  the  word  to  put  back  to  the  post,  and 
as  they  remounted  and  took  the  homeward  trail,  they  rode 
for  the  first  five  minutes  almost  directly  east,  and,  as  they 
ascended  a  little  slant  of  hillside,  the  sergeant  in  advance 
reined  suddenly  in.  "  Look  there !  "  said  he. 

Far  over  among  the  rocky  heights  beyond  the  valley, 
hidden  from  the  south  from  Sandy  by  precipitous  cliffs 
that  served  almost  as  a  reflector  toward  the  reservation, 
a  bright  blaze  had  shot  suddenly  heavenward — a  signal 
fire  of  the  Apache.  Some  of  them,  then,  were  in  the  heart 
of  that  most  intractable  region,  not  ten  miles  northeast  of 
the  post,  and  signaling  to  their  fellows;  but  the  major 
must  have  slipped  safely  through. 

Sending  his  horse  to  stable  with  the  detachment,  Wren 
had  found  No.  4  well  over  toward  the  east  end  of  his 
post,  almost  to  the  angle  with  that  of  No.  5.  "  Watch 
well  for  signal  fires  or  prowlers  to-night,"  he  ordered. 
"  Have  you  seen  any  ?  " 

"  No  signal  fires,  sir,"  answered  the  sentry.  "  Welch, 
who  was  on  before  me,  thought  he  heard  shots 

"  I  know,"  answered  Wren  impatiently.     "  There  was 


"  WOMAN-WALK-IN-THE-NIGHT  "  AGAIN  117 

nothing  in  it.  But  we  did  see  a  signal  fire  over  ro  thq 
northeast,  so  they  are  around  us,  and  some  may  be  creep 
ing  close  in  to  see  what  we're  doing,  though  I  doubt  it. 
You've  seen  nothing  ?  " 

"  Well,  no,  sir ;  we  can't  see  much  of  anything,  it's  so 
dark.  But  there's  a  good  many  of  the  post  people  up  and 
moving  about,  excited,  I  suppose.  There  were  lights 
there  at  the  lieutenant's,  Mr.  Blakely's,  a  while  ago,  and — 
voices."  No.  4  pointed  to  the  dark  gable  end  barely  forty 
yards  away. 

"  That's  simple  enough,"  said  Wren.  "  People  would 
naturally  come  up  to  this  end  to  see  what  had  become  of 
us,  why  we  had  gone,  etc.  They  heard  of  it,  I  dare  say, 
and  some  were  probably  startled." 

"  Yes,  sir,  it  sounded  like — somebody  cryin'." 

Wren  was  turning  away.  "What?"  he  suddenly 
asked. 

No.  4  repeated  his  statement.  Wren  pondered  a  mo 
ment,  started  to  speak,  to  question  further,  but  checked 
himself  and  trudged  thoughtfully  away  through  the  yield 
ing  sand.  The  nearest  path  led  past  the  first  quarters, 
Blakely's,  on  the  eastward  side,  and  as  the  captain  neared 
the  house  he  stopped  short.  Somewhere  in  the  shadows 
of  the  back  porch  low,  murmuring  voices  were  faintly 
audible.  One,  in  excited  tone,  was  not  that  of  a  man,  and 
as  Wren  stood,  uncertain  and  surprised,  the  rear  door 
was  quickly  opened  and  against  the  faint  light  from  within 
two  dark  forms  were  projected.  One,  the  taller,  he 
recognized  beyond  doubt  as  that  of  Neil  Blakely;  the 


118  AN  APACHE  PRINCESS 

other  he  did  not  recognize  at  all.  But  he  had  heard  the 
tone  of  the  voice.  He  knew  the  form  to  be,  beyond  doubt, 
that  of  a  young  and  slender  woman.  Then  together  the 
shadows  disappeared  within  and  the  door  was  closed  be 
hind  them. 


CHAPTER  XI 

A  STOP — BY  WIRE 

THREE  days  later  the  infantry  guard  of  the  gar 
rison  were  in  sole  charge.  Wren  and  Sanders, 
with  nearly  fifty  troopers  apiece,  had  taken  the 
field  in  compliance  with  telegraphic  orders  from  Pres- 
cott.  The  general  had  established  field  headquarters 
temporarily  at  Camp  McDowell,  down  the  Verde  Valley, 
and  under  his  somewhat  distant  supervision  four  or  five 
little  columns  of  horse,  in  single  file,  were  boring  into  the 
fastnesses  of  the  Mogollon  and  the  Tonto  Basin.  The 
runners  had  been  unsuccessful.  The  renegades  would 
not  return.  Half  a  dozen  little  nomad  bands,  forever  out 
from  the  reservation,  had  eagerly  welcomed  these  mal 
contents  and  the  news  they  bore  that  two  ef  their  young 
braves  had  been  murdered  while  striving  to  defend  Natzie 
and  Lola.  It  furnished  all  that  was  needed  as  excuse  for 
instant  descent  upon  the  settlers  in  the  deep  valleys  north 
of  the  Rio  Salado,  and,  all  unsuspecting,  all  unprepared, 
several  of  these  had  met  their  doom.  Relentless  war  was 
already  begun,  and  the  general  lost  no  time  in  starting  his 
horsemen  after  the  hostiles.  Meantime  the  infantry  com 
panies,  at  the  scattered  posts  and  camps,  were  left  to 
"  hold  the  fort,"  to  protect  the  women,  children,  and  prop 
erty,  and  Neil  Blakely,  a  sore-hearted  man  because  for- 

119 


120  AN  APACHE  PRINCESS 

bidden  by  the  surgeon  to  attempt  to  go,  was  chafing,  fum 
ing,  and  retarding  his  recovery  at  his  lonely  quarters. 
The  men  whom  he  most  liked  were  gone,  and  the  few, 
among  the  women  who  might  have  been  his  friends 
seemed  now  to  stand  afar  off.  Something,  he  knew  not 
what,  had  turned  garrison  sentiment  against  him. 

For  a  day  or  two,  so  absorbed  was  he  in  his  chagrin 
over  Graham's  verdict  and  the  general's  telegraphic 
orders  in  the  case,  Mr.  Blakely  never  knew  or  noticed  that 
anything  else  was  amiss.  Then,  too,  there  had  been  no 
opportunity  of  meeting  garrison  folk  except  the  few 
officers  who  dropped  in  to  inquire  civilly  how  he  was  pro 
gressing.  The  bandages  were  off,  but  the  plaster  still 
disfigured  one  side  of  his  face  and  neck.  He  could  not 
go  forth  and  seek  society.  There  was  really  only  one  girl 
at  the  post  whose  society  he  cared  to  seek.  He  had  his 
books  and  his  bugs,  and  that,  said  Mrs.  Bridger,  was  "  all 
he  demanded  and  more  than  he  deserved."  To  think  that 
the  very  room  so  recently  sacred  to  the  son  and  heir 
should  be  transformed  into  what  that  irate  little  woman 
called  a  "  beetle  shop  " !  It  was  one  of  Mr.  Blakely's  un 
pardonable  sins  in  the  eyes  of  the  sex  that  he  found  so 
much  to  interest  him  in  a  pursuit  that  neither  interested 
nor  included  them.  A  man  with  brains  and  a  bank  ac 
count  had  no  right  to  live  alone,  said  Mrs.  Sanders,  she 
having  a  daughter  of  marriageable  age,  if  only  moder 
ately  prepossessing.  All  this  had  the  women  to  complain 
of  in  him  before  the  cataclysm  that,  for  the  time  at  least, 
had  played  havoc  with  his  good  looks.  All  this  he  knev/ 


A  STOP— BY  WIRE  121 

and  bore  with  philosophic  and  whimsical  stoicism.  But 
all  this  and  more  could  not  account  for  the  phenomenon 
of  averted  eyes  and  constrained,  if  not  freezing,  manner 
when,  in  the  dusk  of  the  late  autumn  evening,  issuing 
suddenly  from  his  quarters,  he  came  face  to  face  with  a 
party  of  four  young  women  under  escort  of  the  post 
adjutant — Mrs.  Bridger  and  Mrs.  Truman  foremost  of 
the  four  and  first  to  receive  his  courteous,  yet  half  em 
barrassed,  greeting.  They  had  to  stop  for  half  a  second, 
as  they  later  said,  because  really  he  confronted  them,  all 
unsuspected.  But  the  other  two,  Kate  Sanders  and  Mina 
Westervelt,  with  bowed  heads  and  without  a  word, 
scurried  by  him  and  passed  on  down  the  line.  Doty  ex 
plained  hurriedly  that  they  had  been  over  to  the  post  hos 
pital  to  inquire  for  Mullins  and  were  due  at  the  Sanders' 
now  for  music,  whereupon  Blakely  begged  pardon  for 
even  the  brief  detention,  and,  raising  his  cap,  went  on  out 
to  the  sentry  post  of  No.  4  to  study  the  dark  and  distant 
upheavals  in  the  Red  Rock  country,  where,  almost  every 
night  of  late,  the  signal  fires  of  the  Apaches  were  re 
ported.  Not  until  he  was  again  alone  did  he  realize  that 
he  had  been  almost  frigidly  greeted  by  those  who  spoke 
at  all.  It  set  him  to  thinking. 

Mrs.  Plume  was  still  confined  to  her  room.  The  major 
had  returned  from  Prescott  and,  despite  the  fact  that  the 
regiment  was  afield  and  a  clash  with  the  hostiles  immi 
nent,  was  packing  up  preparatory  to  a  move.  Books, 
papers,  and  pictures  were  being  stored  in  chests,  big  and 
little,  that  he  had  had  made  for  such  emergencies.  It  was 


122  AN  APACHE  PRINCESS 

evident  that  he  was  expecting  orders  for  change  of  sta 
tion  or  extended  leave,  and  they  who  went  so  far  as  to 
question  the  grave-faced  soldier,  who  seemed  to  have 
grown  ten  years  older  in  the  last  ten  days,  had  to  be  con 
tent  with  the  brief,  guarded  reply  that  Mrs.  Plume  had 
never  been  well  since  she  set  foot  in  Arizona,  and  even 
though  he  returned,  she  would  not.  He  was  taking  her, 
he  said,  to  San  Francisco.  Of  this  unhappy  woman's 
nocturnal  expedition  the  others  seldom  spoke  now  and 
only  with  bated  breath.  "  Sleep-walking,  of  course !  " 
said  everybody,  no  matter  what  everybody  might  think. 
But,  now  that  Major  Plume  knew  that  in  her  sleep  his 
wife  had  wandered  up  the  row  to  the  very  door — the 
back  door — of  Mr.  Blakely's  quarters,  was  it  not  strange 
that  he  had  taken  no  pains  to  prevent  a  recurrence  of  so 
compromising  an  excursion,  for  strange  stories  were 
afloat.  Sentry  No.  4  had  heard  and  told  of  a  feminine 
voice,  "  somebody  cryin'  like  "  in  the  darkness  of  mid 
night  about  Blakely's,  and  Norah  Shaughnessy — re 
turned  to  her  duties  at  the  Trumans',  yet  worrying  over 
the  critical  condition  of  her  trooper  lover,  and  losing 
thereby  much  needed  sleep — had  gained  some  new  and 
startling  information.  One  night  she  had  heard,  an 
other  night  she  had  dimly  seen,  a  visitor  received  at 
Blakely's  back  door,  and  that  visitor  a  woman,  with  a 
shawl  about  her  head.  Norah  told  her  mistress,  who 
very  properly  bade  her  never  refer  to  it  again  to  a  soul, 
and  very  promptly  referred  to  it  herself  to  several  souls, 
one  of  them  Janet  Wren.  Janet,  still  virtuously  averse  to 


A  STOP— BY  WIRE  123 

Blakely,  laid  the  story  before  her  brother  the  very  day  he 
started  on  the  war-path,  and  Janet  was  startled  to  see  that 
she  was  telling  him  no  news  whatever.  "  Then,  indeed," 
said  she,  "  it  is  high  time  the  major  took  his  wife  away," 
and  Wren  sternly  bade  her  hold  her  peace,  she  knew  not 
what  she  was  saying !  But,  said  Camp  Sandy,  who  could 
it  have  been  but  Mrs.  Plume  or,  possibly,  Elise  ?  Once  or 
twice  in  its  checkered  past  Camp  Sandy  had  had  its 
romance,  its  mystery,  indeed  its  scandals,  but  this  was 
something  that  put  in  the  shade  all  previous  episodes ;  this 
shook  Sandy  to  its  very  foundation,  and  this,  despite  her 
brother's  prohibition,  Janet  Wren  felt  it  her  duty  to  de 
tail  in  full  to  Angela. 

To  do  her  justice,  it  should  be  said  that  Miss  Wren  had 
striven  valiantly  against  the  impulse, — had  indeed  mas 
tered  it  for  several  hours, — but  the  sight  of  the  vivid  blush, 
the  eager  joy  in  the  sweet  young  face  when  Blakely's  new 
"  striker  "  handed  in  a  note  addressed  to  Miss  Angela 
Wren,  proved  far  too  potent  a  factor  in  the  undoing  of 
that  magnanimous  resolve.  The  girl  fled  with  her  prize, 
instanter,  to  her  room,  and  thither,  as  she  did  not  re 
appear,  the  aunt  betook  herself  within  the  hour.  The 
note  itself  was  neither  long  nor  effusive — merely  a  bright, 
cordial,  friendly  missive,  protesting  against  the  idea  that 
any  apology  had  been  due.  There  was  but  one  line  which 
could  be  considered  even  mildly  significant.  "  The  little 
net,"  wrote  Blakely,  "  has  now  a  value  that  it  never  had 
before."  Yet  Angela  was  snuggling  that  otherwise  un 
important  billet  to  her  cheek  when  the  creaking  stairway 


124  AN  APACHE  PRINCESS 

told  her  portentously  of  a  solemn  coming.  Ten  minutes 
more  and  the  note  was  lying  neglected  on  the  bureau,  and 
Angela  stood  at  her  window,  gazing  out  over  dreary  miles 
of  almost  desert  landscape,  of  rock  and  shale  and  sand 
and  cactus,  with  eyes  from  which  the  light  had  fled,  and 
a  new,  strange  trouble  biting  at  her  girlish  heart.  Con 
found  No.  4 — and  Norah  Shaughnessy! 

It  had  been  arranged  that  when  the  Plumes  were  ready 
to  start,  Mrs.  Daly  and  her  daughter,  the  newly  widowed 
and  the  fatherless,  should  be  sent  up  to  Prescott  and 
thence  across  the  desert  to  Ehrenberg,  on  the  Colorado. 
While  no  hostile  Apaches  had  been  seen  west  of  the 
Verde  Valley,  there  were  traces  that  told  that  they  were 
watching  the  road  as  far  at  least  as  the  Agua  Fria,  and  a 
sergeant  and  six  men  had  been  chosen  to  go  as  escort  to 
the  little  convoy..  It  had  been  supposed  that  Plume 
would  prefer  to  start  in  the  morning  and  go  as  far  as 
Stemmer's  ranch,  in  the  Agua  Fria  Valley,  and  there  rest 
his  invalid  wife  until  another  day,  thus  breaking  the  fifty- 
mile  stage  through  the  mountains.  To  the  surprise  of 
everybody,  the  Dalys  were  warned  to  be  in  readiness  to 
start  at  five  in  the  morning,  and  to  go  through  to  Prescott 
that  day.  At  five  in  the  morning,  therefore,  the  quarter 
master's  ambulance  was  at  the  post  trader's  house,  where 
the  recently  bereaved  ones  had  been  harbored  since  poor 
Daly's  death,  and  there,  with  their  generous  host,  was 
the  widow's  former  patient,  Blakely,  full  of  sympathy  and 
solicitude,  come  to  say  good-bye.  Plume's  own  Concord 
appeared  almost  at  the  instant  in  front  of  his  quarters, 


A  STOP— BY  WIRE  195 

and  presently  Mrs.  Plume,  veiled  and  obviously  far  from 
strong,  came  forth  leaning  on  her  husband's  arm,  and 
closely  followed  by  Elise.  Then,  despite  the  early  hour, 
and  to  the  dismay  of  Plume,  who  had  planned  to  start 
without  farewell  demonstration  of  any  kind,  lights  were 
blinking  in  almost  every  house  along  the  row,  and  a 
flock  of  women,  some  tender  and  sympathetic,  some  mor 
bidly  curious,  had  gathered  to  wish  the  major's  wife  a 
pleasant  journey  and  a  speedy  recovery.  They  loved  her 
not  at  all,  and  liked  her  none  too  well,  but  she  was  ill  and 
sorrowing,  so  that  was  enough.  Elise  they  could  not 
bear,  yet  even  Elise  came  in  for  a  kindly  word  or  two. 
Mrs.  Graham  was  there,  big-hearted  and  brimming  over 
with  helpful  suggestion,  burdened  also  with  a  basket  of 
dainties.  Captain  and  Mrs.  Cutler,  Captain  and  Mrs. 
Westervelt,  the  Trumans  both,  Doty,  -the  young  adjutant, 
Janet  Wren,  of  course,  and  the  ladies  of  the  cavalry,  the 
major's  regiment,  without  exception,  were  on  hand  to  bid 
the  major  and  his  wife  good-bye.  Angela  Wren  was  not 
feeling  well,  explained  her  aunt,  and  Mr.  Neil  Blakely 
was  conspicuous  by  his  absence. 

It  had  been  observed  that,  during  those  few  days  of 
hurried  packing  and  preparation,  Major  Plume  had  not 
once  gone  to  Blakely's  quarters.  True,  he  had  visited 
only  Dr.  Graham,  and  had  begged  him  to  explain  that 
anxiety  on  account  of  Mrs.  Plume  prevented  his  making 
the  round  of  farewell  calls ;  but  that  he  was  thoughtful  of 
others  to  the  last  was  shown  in  this:  Plume  had  asked 
Captain  Cutler,  commander  of  the  post,  to  order  the  re- 


126  AN  APACHE  PRINCESS 

lease  of  that  wretch  Downs.  "  He  has  been  punished 
quite  sufficiently,  I  think,"  said  Plume,  "  and  as  I  was  in 
strumental  in  his  arrest  I  ask  his  liberation."  At  tattoo, 
therefore,  the  previous  evening  "  the  wretch  "  had  been 
returned  to  duty,  and  at  five  in  the  morning  was  found 
hovering  about  the  major's  quarters.  When  invited  by 
the  sergeant  of  the  guard  to  explain,  he  replied,  quite 
civilly  for  him,  that  it  was  to  say  good-by  to  Elise.  "  Me 
and  her,"  said  he,  "  has  been  good  friends." 

Presumably  he  had  had  his  opportunity  at  the  kitchen 
door  before  the  start,  but  still  he  lingered,  feigning  pro 
fessional  interest  in  the  condition  of  the  sleek  mules  that 
were  to  haul  the  Concord  over  fifty  miles  of  rugged  road, 
up  hill  and  down  dale  before  the  setting  of  the  sun.  Then, 
while  the  officers  and  ladies  clustered  thick  on  one  side 
of  the  black  vehicle,  Downs  sidled  to  the  other,  and  the 
big  black  eyes  of  the  Frenchwoman  peered  down  at  him 
a  moment  as  she  leaned  toward  him,  and,  with  a  whis 
pered  word,  slyly  dropped  a  little  folded  packet  into  his 
waiting  palm.  Then,  as  though  impatient,  Plume  shouted 
"All  right.  Go  on !  "  The  Concord  whirled  away,  and 
something  like  a  sigh  of  relief  went  up  from  assembled 
Sandy,  as  the  first  kiss  of  the  rising  sun  lighted  on  the 
bald  pate  of  Squaw  Peak,  huge  sentinel  of  the  valley, 
looming  from  the  darkness  and  shadows  and  the  mists 
of  the  shallow  stream  that  slept  in  many  a  silent  pool 
along  its  massive,  rocky  base.  With  but  a  few  hurried, 
embarrassed  words,  Clarice  Plume  had  said  adieu  to 
Sandy,  thinking  never  to  see  it  again.  They  stood  and 


A  STOP— BY  WIRE 

watched  her  past  the  one  unlighted  house,  the  northern 
most  along  the  row.  They  knew  not  that  Mr.  Blakely 
was  at  the  moment  bidding  adieu  to  others  in  far  humbler 
station.  They  only  noted  that,  even  at  the  last,  he  was 
not  there  to  wave  a  good-by  to  the  woman  who  had  once 
so  influenced  his  life.  Slowly  then  the  little  group  dis 
solved  and  drifted  away.  She  had  gone  unchallenged  of 
any  authority,  though  the  fate  of  Mullins  still  hung  in 
the  balance.  Obviously,  then,  it  was  not  she  whom 
Byrne's  report  had  implicated,  if  indeed  that  report  had 
named  anybody.  There  had  been  no  occasion  for  a  cor 
oner  and  jury.  There  would  have  been  neither  coroner 
nor  jury  to  serve,  had  they  been  called  for.  Camp  Sandy 
stood  in  a  little  world  of  its  own,  the  only  civil  function 
ary  within  forty  miles  being  a  ranchman,  dwelling  seven 
miles  down  stream,  who  held  some  Territorial  warrant  as 
a  justice  of  the  peace. 

But  Norah  Shaughnessy,  from  the  gable  window  of  the 
Trumans'  quarters,  shook  a  hard-clinching  Irish  fist  and 
showered  malediction  after  the  swiftly  speeding  ambu 
lance.  "  Wan  'o  ye,"  she  sobbed,  "  dealt  Pat  Mullins  a 
coward  and  cruel  blow,  and  I'll  know  which,  as  soon  as 
ever  that  poor  bye  can  spake  the  truth."  She  would  have 
said  it  to  that  hated  Frenchwoman  herself,  had  not  mother 
and  mistress  both  forbade  her  leaving  the  room  until  the 
Plumes  were  gone. 

Three  trunks  had  been  stacked  up  and  secured  on  the 
hanging  rack  at  the  rear  of  the  Concord.  Others,  with 
certain  chests  and  boxes,  had  been  loaded  into  one  big 


128  AN  APACHE  PRINCESS 

wagon  and  sent  ahead.  The  ambulance,  with  the  Dalys 
and  the  little  escort  of  seven  horsemen,  awaited  the  rest 
of  the  convoy  on  the  northward  flats,  and  the  cloud  of 
their  combined  dust  hung  long  on  the  scarred  flanks  as 
the  first  rays  of  the  rising  sun  came  gilding  the  rocks  at 
Boulder  Point,  and  what  was  left  of  the  garrison  at 
Sandy  turned  out  for  reveille. 

That  evening,  for  the  first  time  since  his  injury,  Mr. 
Blakely  took  his  horse  and  rode  away  southward  in  the 
soft  moonlight,  and  had  not  returned  when  tattoo 
sounded.  The  post  trader,  coming-  up  with  the  latest 
San  Francisco  papers,  said  he  had  stopped  a  moment  to 
ask  at  the  store  whether  Schandein,  the  ranchman  justice 
of  the  peace  before  referred  to,  had  recently  visited  the 
post. 

That  evening,  too,  for  the  first  time  since  his  danger 
ous  wound,  Trooper  Mullins  awoke  from  his  long  deli 
rium,  weak  as  a  little  child;  asked  for  Norah,  and  what 
in  the  world  was  the  matter  with  him — in  bed  and  ban 
dages,  and  Dr.  Graham,  looking  into  the  poor  lad's  dim, 
half-opening  eyes,  sent  a  messenger  to  Captain  Cutler's 
quarters  to  ask  would  the  captain  come  at  once  to  hos 
pital.  This  was  at  nine  o'clock. 

Less  than  two  hours  later  a  mounted  orderly  set  forth 
with  dispatches  from  the  temporary  post  commander  to 
Colonel  Byrne  at  Prescott.  A  wire  from  that  point  about 
sundown  had  announced  the  safe  arrival  of  the  party 
from  Camp  Sandy.  The  answer,  sent  at  ten  o'clock, 
broke  up  the  game  of  whist  at  the  quarters  of  the  in  spec- 


A  STOP— BY  WIRE 

tor  general.  Byrne,  the  recipient,  gravely  read  it,  backed 
from  the  table,  and  vainly  strove  not  to  see  the  anxious 
inquiry  in  the  eyes  of  Major  Plume,  his  guest.  But 
Plume  cornered  him. 

"  From  Sandy?  "  he  asked.     "  May  I  read  it?  " 
Byrne  hesitated  just  one  moment,  then  placed  the  paper 
in  his  junior's  hand.     Plume  read,  turned  very  white, 
and  the  paper  fell  from  his  trembling  fingers.     The  mes 
sage  merely  said : 

Mullins  recovering  and  quite  rational,  though  very  weak.  He 
says  two  women  were  his  assailants.  Courier  with  dispatches  at 
once. 

(Signed)    CUTLER,  Commanding. 


CHAPTER  XII 

FIRE! 

'  ~W~  T  was  not  so  much  his  wounds  as  his  weakness," 
Dr.  Graham  was  saying,  later  still  that  autumn 

-*-  night,  "  that  led  to  my  declaring  Blakely  unfit  to 
take  the  field.  He  would  have  gone  in  spite  of  me,  but 
for  the  general's  order.  He  has  gone  now  in  spite  of  me, 
and  no  one  knows  where." 

It  was  then  nearly  twelve  o'clock,  and  "  the  Bugolo- 
gist "  was  still  abroad.  Dinner,  as  usual  since  his  mis 
hap,  had  been  sent  over  to  him  from  the  officers'  mess 
soon  after  sunset.  His  horse,  or  rather  the  troop  horse 
designated  for  his  use,  had  been  fed  and  groomed  in  the 
late  afternoon,  and  then  saddled  at  seven  o'clock  and 
brought  over  to  the  rear  of  the  quarters  by  a  stable  or 
derly. 

There  had  been  some  demur  at  longer  sending 
Blakely's  meals  from  mess,  now  reduced  to  an  actual 
membership  of  two.  Sandy  was  a  "  much  married  " 
post  in  the  latter  half  of  the  70*5,  the  bachelors  of  the 
commissioned  list  being  only  three,  all  told, — Blakely, 
and  Duane  of  the  Horse,  and  Doty  of  the  Foot. 
With  these  was  Heartburn,  the  contract  doctor,  and  now 
Duane  and  the  doctor  were  out  in  the  mountains 
and  Blakely  on  sick  report,  yet  able  to  be  about.  Doty 

130 


FIRE !  131 

thought  him  able  to  come  to  mess.  Blakely,  thinking  he 
looked  much  worse  than  he  felt,  thanks  to  his  plastered 
jowl,  stood  on  his  rights  in  the  matter  and  would  not  go. 
There  had  been  some  demur  on  part  of  the  stable  ser 
geant  of  Wren's  troop  as  to  sending  over  the  horse.  Few 
officers  brought  eastern-bred  horses  to  Arizona  in  those 
days.  The  bronco  was  best  suited  to  the  work.  An  of 
ficer  on  duty  could  take  out  the  troop  horse  assigned  to 
his  use  any  hour  before  taps  and  no  questions  asked ;  but 
the  sergeant  told  Mr.  Blakely's  messenger  that  the  lieu 
tenant  wasn't  for  duty,  and  it  might  make  trouble.  It 
did.  Captain  Cutler  sent  for  old  Murray,  the  veteran 
sergeant,  and  asked  him  did  he  not  know  his  orders.  He 
had  allowed  a  horse  to  be  sent  to  a  sick  man — an  officer 
not  on  duty — and  one  the  doctor  had  warned  against  ex 
ercise  for  quite  a  time,  at  least.  And  now  the  officer 
was  gone,  so  was  the  horse,  and  Cutler,  being  sorely  torn 
up  by  the  revelations  of  the  evening  and  dread  of  ill  be 
falling  Blakely,  was  so  injudicious  as  to  hint  to  a  soldier 
who  had  worn  chevrons  much  longer  than  he,  Cutler,  had 
worn  shoulder-straps,  that  the  next  thing  to  go  would 
probably  be  his  sergeant's  bars,  whereat  Murray  went  red 
to  the  roots  of  his  hair — which  "  continued  the  march  " 
of  the  color, — and  said,  with  a  snap  of  his  jaws,  that  he 
got  those  chevrons,  as  he  did  his  orders,  from  his  troop 
commander.  A  court  might  order  them  stricken  off,  but 
a  captain  couldn't,  other  than  his  own.  For  which  piece 
of  impudence  the  veteran  went  straightway  to  Sudsville 
in  close  arrest.  Corporal  Bolt  was  ordered  to  take  over 


132  AN  APACHE  PRINCESS 

his  keys  and  the  charge  of  the  stables  until  the  return  of 
Captain  Wren,  also  this  order — that  no  government 
horse  should  be  sent  to  Lieutenant  Blakely  hereafter  un 
til  the  lieutenant  was  declared  by  the  post  surgeon  fit  for 
duty. 

There  were  left  at  the  post,  of  each  of  the  two  cavalry 
troops,  about  a  dozen  men  to  care  for  the  stables,  the  bar 
racks,  and  property.  Seven  of  these  had  gone  with  the 
convoy  to  Prescott,  and,  when  Cutler  ordered  half  a  dozen 
horsemen  out  at  midnight  to  follow  Blakely 's  trail  and 
try  to  find  him,  they  had  to  draw  on  both  troop  stables, 
and  one  of  the  designated  men  was  the  wretch  Downs, — 
and  Downs  was  not  in  his  bunk, — not  anywhere  about 
the  quarters  or  corrals.  It  was  nearly  one  by  the  time 
the  party  started  down  the  sandy  road  to  the  south,  Hart 
and  his  buckboard  and  a  sturdy  brace  of  mules  joining 
them  as  they  passed  the  store.  "  We  may  need  to  bring 
him  back  in  this,"  said  he,  to  Corporal  Quirk. 

"An*  what  did  ye  fetch  to  bring  him  to  wid  ?  "  asked 
the  corporal.  Hart  touched  lightly  the  breast  of  his  coat, 
then  clucked  to  his  team.  "  Faith,  there's  more  than 
wan  way  of  tappin'  it  then/'  said  Quirk,  but  the  cavalcade 
moved  on. 

The  crescent  moon  had  long  since  sunk  behind  the 
westward  range,  and  trailing  was  something  far  too  slow 
and  tedious.  They  spurred,  therefore,  for  the  nearest 
ranch,  five  miles  down  stream,  making  their  first  inquiry 
there.  The  inmates  were  slow  to  arise,  but  quick  to  an 
swer.  Blakely  had  neither  been  seen  nor  heard  of. 


FIRE !  133 

Downs  they  didn't  wish  to  know  at  all.  Indians  hadn't 
been  near  the  lower  valley  since  the  "  break  "  at  the  post 
the  previous  week.  One  of  the  inmates  declared  he  had 
ridden  alone  from  Camp  McDowell  within  three  days, 
and  there  wasn't  a  Tatchie  west  of  the  Matitzal.  Hart 
did  all  the  questioning*.  He  was  a  business  man  and  a 
brother.  Soldiers,  the  ranchmen  didn't  like — soldiers  set 
too  much  value  on  government  property. 

The  trail  ran  but  a  few  hundred  yards  east  of  the 
stream,  and  close  to  the  adobe  walls  of  the  ranch.  Strom, 
the  proprietor,  got  out  his  lantern  and  searched  below 
the  point  where  the  little  troop  had  turned  off.  No  re 
cent  hoof-track,  southbound,  was  visible.  "  He  couldn't 
have  come  this  far,"  said  he.  "  Better  put  back !  "  Put 
back  they  did,  and  by  the  aid  of  Hart's  lantern  found  the 
fresh  trail  of  a  government-shod  horse,  turning  to  the 
east  nearly  two  miles  toward  home.  Quirk  said  a  bad 
word  or  two;  borrowed  the  lantern  and  thoughtfully  in 
cluded  the  flask ;  bade  his  men  follow  in  file  and  plunged 
through  the  underbrush  in  dogged  pursuit.  Hart  and 
his  team  now  could  not  follow.  They  waited  over  half 
an  hour  without  sign  or  sound  from  the  trailers,  then 
drove  swiftly  back  to  the  post.  There  was  a  light  in  the 
telegraph  office,  and  thither  Hart  went  in  a  hurry.  Lieu 
tenant  Doty,  combining  the  duties  of  adjutant  and  officer 
of  the  day,  was  up  and  making  the  rounds.  The  sen 
tries  had  just  called  off  three  o'clock. 

"  Had  your  trouble  for  nothing,  Hart/'  hailed  the 
youngster  cheerily.  "  Where  're  the  men  ?  " 


134  AN  APACHE  PRINCESS 

"  Followed  his  trail — turned  to  the  east  three  miles 
below  here,"  answered  the  trader. 

"  Three  miles  below!  Why,  man,  he  wasn't  below. 
He  met  them  up  Beaver  Creek,  an'  brought  'em  in." 

"  Brought  who  in  ?  "  asked  Hart,  dropping  his  whip. 
"  I  don't  understand." 

"  Why,  the  scouts,  or  runners !  Wren  sent  'em  in. 
He's  had  a  sharp  fight  up  the  mountains  beyond  Snow 
Lake.  Three  men  wounded.  You  couldn't  have  gone  a 
mile  before  Blakely  led  'em  across  No.  4's  post.  Ahorah 
and  another  chap — 'Patchie-Mohaves.  We  clicked  the 
news  up  to  Prescott  over  an  hour  ago." 

The  tin  reflector  at  the  office  window  threw  the  light 
of  the  glass-framed  candle  straight  upon  Hart's  rubicund 
face,  and  that  face  was  a  study.  He  faltered  a  bit  be 
fore  he  asked : 

"  Did  Blakely  seem  all  right  ? — not  used  up,  I  mean  ?  " 

"  Seemed  weak  and  tired,  but  the  man  is  mad  to  go 
and  join  his  troop  now — wants  to  go  right  out  with  Aho 
rah  in  the  morning,  and  Captain  Cutler  says  no.  Oh, 
they  had  quite  a  row !  " 

They  had  had  rather  more  than  quite  a  row,  if  truth 
were  told.  Doty  had  heard  only  a  bit  of  it.  Cutler  had 
been  taken  by  surprise  when  the  Bugologist  appeared, 
two  strange,  wiry  Apaches  at  his  heels,  and  at  first  had 
contented  himself  with  reading  Wren's  dispatch,  repeat 
ing  it  over  the  wires  to  Prescott.  Then  he  turned  on 
Blakely,  silently,  wearily  waiting,  seated  at  Doty's  desk, 
and  on  the  two  Apaches,  silently,  stolidly  waiting,  squat- 


r    V 


FIRE !  135 

ted  on  the  floor.  Cutler  wished  to  know  how  Blakely 
knew  these  couriers  were  coming,  and  how  he  came  to 
leave  the  post  without  permission.  For  a  moment  the 
lieutenant  simply  gazed  at  him,  unanswering,  but  when 
the  senior  somewhat  sharply  repeated  the  question,  in 
part,  Blakely  almost  as  sharply  answered :  "  I  did  not 
know  they  were  coming  nor  that  there  was  wrong  in  my 
going.  Major  Plume  required  nothing  of  the  kind  when 
we  were  merely  going  out  for  a  ride." 

This  nettled  Cutler.     He  had  always  said  that  Plume 
was   lax,   and  here   was  proof   of   it.     "  I  might  have 
wanted  you — I  did  want  you,  hours  ago,  Mr.  Blakely, 
and  even  Major  Plume  would  not  countenance  his  of 
ficers  spending  the  greater  part  of  the  night  away  from 
the  post,  especially  on  a  government  horse/'  and  there 
had  Cutler  the  whip  hand  of  the  scientist,  and  Blakely  had 
sense  enough  to  see  it,  yet  not  sense  enough  to  accept. 
He  was  nervous  and  irritable,  as  well  as  tired.     Graham 
had  told  him  he  was  too  weak  to  ride,  yet  he  had  gone, 
not  thinking,  of  course,  to  be  gone  so  long,  but  gone  de 
liberately,  and  without  asking  the  consent  of  the  post 
commander.     "  My  finding  the  runners  was  an  accident," 
he  said,  with  some  little  asperity  of  tone  and  manner. 
"  In  fact,  I  didn't  find  them.     They  found  me.     I  had 
known  them  both  at  the  reservation.     Have  I  your  per 
mission,    sir" — this    with    marked    emphasis — "to   take 
them  for  something  to  eat.     They  are  very  hungry, — 
have  come  far,  and  wish  to  start  early  and  rejoin  Captain 
Wren,— -as  I  do,  too." 


136  AN  APACHE  PRINCESS 

"  They  will  start  when  /  am  ready,  Mr.  Blakely,"  said 
Cutler,  "  and  you  certainly  will  not  start  before.  In 
point  of  fact,  sir,  you  may  not  be  allowed  to  start  at  all." 

It  was  now  Blakely's  turn  to  redden  to  the  brows. 
"  You  surely  will  not  prevent  my  going  to  join  my  troop, 
now  that  it  is  in  contact  with  the  enemy,"  said  he.  "All 
I  need  is  a  few  hours'  sleep.  I  can  start  at  seven." 

"  You  cannot,  with  my  consent,  Mr.  Blakely,"  said  the 
captain  dryly.  "  There  are  reasons,  in  fact,  why  you 
can't  leave  here  for  any  purpose  unless  the  general  him 
self  give  contrary  orders.  Matters  have  come  up  that — 
you'll  probably  have  to  explain." 

And  here  Doty  entered,  hearing  only  the  captain's  last. 
At  sight  of  his  adjutant  the  captain  stopped  short  in  his 
reprimand.  "  See  to  it  that  these  runners  have  a  good 
supper,  Mr.  Doty,"  said  Cutler.  "  Stir  up  my  company 
cook,  if  need  be,  but  take  them  with  you  now."  Then, 
turning  again  on  Blakely,  "  The  doctor  wishes  you  to  go 
to  bed  at  once,  Mr.  Blakely,  and  I  will  see  you  in  the 
morning,  but  no  more  riding  away  without  permission," 
he  concluded,  and  thereby  closed  the  interview.  He  had, 
indeed,  other  things  to  say  to,  and  inquire  of,  Blakely, 
but  not  until  he  had  further  consulted  Graham.  He  con 
fidently  expected  the  coming  day  would  bring  instruc 
tions  from  headquarters  to  hold  both  Blakely  and  Trooper 
Downs  at  the  post,  as  a  result  of  his  dispatches,  based  on 
the  revelation  of  poor  Pat  Mullins.  But  Downs,  fore 
warned,  perhaps,  had  slipped  into  hiding  somewhere — an 
old  trick  of  his,  when  punishment  was  imminent.  It 


FIRE !  137 

might  be  two  or  three  days  before  Downs  turned  up 
again,  if  indeed  he  turned  up  at  all,  but  Blakely  was  here 
and  could  be  held.  Hence  the  "  horse  order  "  of  the 
earlier  evening. 

It  was  nearly  two  when  Blakely  reached  his  quarters, 
rebuffed  and  stung.  He  was  so  nervous,  however,  that, 
in  spite  of  serious  fatigue,  he  found  it  for  over  an  hour 
impossible  to  sleep.  He  turned  out  his  light  and  lay  in 
the  dark,  and  the  atmosphere  of  the  room  seemed  heavily 
charged  with  rank  tobacco.  His  new  "  striker  "  had  sat 
up,  it  seems,  keeping  faithful  vigil  against  his  master's 
return,  but,  as  the  hours  wore  on,  had  solaced  himself 
with  pipe  after  pipe,  and  wandering  about  to  keep  awake. 
Most  of  the  time,  he  declared,  he  had  spent  in  a  big  rock 
ing  chair  on  the  porch  at  the  side  door,  but  the  scent  of 
the  weed  and  of  that  veteran  pipe  permeated  the  entire 
premises,  and  the  Bugologist  hated  dead  tobacco.  He 
got  up  and  tore  down  the  blanket  screen  at  the  side  win 
dows  and  opened  all  the  doors  wide  and  tried  his  couch 
again,  and  still  he  wooed  the  drowsy  god  in  vain.  "  Nor 
poppy  nor  mandragora  "  had  he  to  soothe  him.  Instead 
there  were  new  and  anxious  thoughts  to  vex,  and  so  an 
other  half  hour  he  tossed  and  tumbled,  and  when  at  last 
he  seemed  dropping  to  the  borderland,  perhaps,  of 
dreams,  he  thought  he  must  be  ailing  again  and  in  need 
of  new  bandages  or  cooling  drink  or  something,  for  the 
muffled  footfalls,  betrayed  by  creaking  pine  rather  than 
by  other  sound,  told  him  drowsily  that  the  attendant  or 
somebody,  cautioned  not  to  disturb  him,  was  moving 


138  AN  APACHE  PRINCESS 

slowly  across  the  room.  He  might  have  been  out  on  the 
side  porch  to  get  cool  water  from  the  olla,  but  he  needn't 
be  so  confoundedly  slow  and  cautious,  though  he  couldn't 
help  the  creaking.  Then,  what  could  the  attendant  want 
in  the  front  room,  where  were  still  so  many  of  the 
precious  glass  cases  unharmed,  and  the  Bugologist's  favo 
rite  books  and  his  big  desk,  littered  with  papers,  etc.  ? 
Blakely  thought  to  hail  and  warn  him  against  moving 
about  among  those  brittle  glass  things,  but  reflected  that 
he,  the  new  man,  had  done  the  reshifting  under  his, 
Blakely 's,  supervision,  and  knew  just  where  each  item  was 
placed  and  how  to  find  the  passage  way  between  them. 
It  really  was  a  trifle  intricate.  How  could  he  have  gone 
into  the  spare  room  at  Captain  Wren's,  and  there  made 
his  home  as — she — Mrs.  Plume  had  first  suggested? 
There  would  not  have  been  room  for  half  his  plunder,  to 
say  nothing  of  himself.  "  What  on  earth  can  Nixon 
want  ?  "  he  sleepily  asked  himself,  "  fumbling  about  there 
among  those  cases  ?  Was  that  a  crack  or  a  snap  ?  "  It 
sounded  like  both,  a  splitting  of  glass,  a  wrenching  of 
lock  spring  or  something.  "  Be  careful  there!  "  he  man 
aged  to  call.  No  answer.  Perhaps  it  was  some  one  of 
the  big  hounds,  then,  wandering  restlessly  about  at  night. 
They  often  did,  and — why,  yes,  that  would  account  for  it. 
Doors  and  windows  were  all  wide  open  here,  what  was 
to  prevent  ?  Still,  Blakely  washed  he  hadn't  extinguished 
his  lamp.  He  might  then  have  explored.  The  sound 
ceased  entirely  for  a  moment,  and,  now  that  he  was  quite 
awake,  he  remembered  that  the  hospital  attendant  was  no 


FIRE !  139 

longer  with  him.  Then  the  sounds  must  have  been  made 
by  the  striker  or  the  hounds.  Blakely  had  no  dogs  of  his 
own.  Indeed  they  were  common  property  at  the  post, 
most  of  them  handed  down  with  the  rest  of  the  public 
goods  and  chattels  by  their  predecessors  of  the  — th.  At 
all  events,  he  felt  far  too  languid,  inert,  weak,  indifferent 
or  something.  If  the  striker,  he  had  doubtless  come 
down  for  cool  water.  If  the  hounds,  they  were  in  search 
of  something  to  eat,  and  in  either  case  why  bother  about 
it  ?  The  incident  had  so  far  distracted  his  thoughts  from 
the  worries  of  the  night  that  now,  at  last  and  in  good  ear 
nest,  he  was  dropping  to  sleep. 

But  in  less  than  twenty  minutes  he  was  broad  awake 
again,  with  sudden  start — gasping,  suffocating,  listening 
in  amaze  to  a  volley  of  snapping  and  cracking,  half- 
smothered,  from  the  adjoining  room.  He  sprang  from 
his  bed  with  a  cry  of  alarm  and  flung  himself  through  a 
thick,  hot  veil  of  eddying,  yet  invisible,  smoke,  straight 
for  the  communicating  doorway,  and  was  brought  up 
standing  by  banging  his  head  against  the  resounding  pine, 
tight  shut  instead  of  open  as  he  had  left  it,  and  refusing 
to  yield  to  furious  battering.  It  was  locked,  bolted,  or 
barred  from  the  other  side.  Blindly  he  turned  and 
rushed  for  the  side  porch  and  the  open  air,  stumbling 
against  the  striker  as  the  latter  came  clattering  headlong 
down  from  aloft.  Then  together  they  rushed  to  the  par 
lor  window,  now  cracking  and  splitting  from  the  furious 
heat  within.  A  volume  of  black  fume  came  belching 
forth,  driven  and  lashed  by  ruddy  tongues  of  flame 


140  AN  APACHE  PRINCESS 

within,  and  their  shouts  for  aid  went  up  on  the  wings  of 
the  dawn,  and  the  infantry  sentry  on  the  eastward 
post  came  running  to  see ;  caught  one  glimpse  of  the  glare 
at  that  southward  window ;  bang  went  his  rifle  with  a  ring 
that  came  echoing  back  from  the  opposite  cliffs,  as  all 
Camp  Sandy  sprang  from  its  bed  in  answer  to  the  sten 
torian  shout  "  Fire !  No.  5 !  " 


CHAPTER  XIII 

WHOSE    LETTERS? 

THERE  is  something  about  a  night  alarm  of  fire 
at  a  military  post  that  borders  on  the  thrilling. 
In  the  days  whereof  we  write  the  buildings 
were  not  the  substantial  creations  of  brick  and  stone  to 
be  seen  to-day,  and  those  of  the  scattered  "  camps  "  and 
stations  in  that  arid,  sun-scorched  land  of  Arizona  were 
tinder    boxes    of    the    flimsiest    and    most    inflammable 
kind. 

It  could  hardly  have  been  a  minute  from  the  warning 
shot  and  yell  of  No.  5 — repeated  right  and  left  by  other 
sentries  and  echoed  by  No.  I  at  the  guard-house — be 
fore  bugle  and  trumpet  were  blaring  their  fierce  alarm, 
and  the  hoarse  roar  of  the  drum  was  rousing  the  inmates 
of  the  infantry  barracks.  Out  they  came,  tumbling  pell- 
mell  into  the  accustomed  ranks,  confronted  by  the  sight 
of  Blakely's  quarters  one  broad  sheet  of  flame.  With 
incredible  speed  the  blaze  had  burst  forth  from  the  front 
room  on  the  lower  floor ;  leaped  from  window  to  window, 
from  ledge  to  ledge;  fastened  instantly  on  overhanging 
roof,  and  the  shingled  screen  of  the  veranda;  had  darted 
up  the  dry  wooden  stairway,  devouring  banister,  railing, 
and  snapping  pine  floor,  and  then,  billowing  forth  from 
every  crack,  crevice,  and  casement  of  the  upper  floor 

141 


142  AN  APACHE  PRINCESS 

streamed  hissing  and  crackling  on  the  blackness  that  pre 
cedes  the  dawn,  a  magnificent  glare  that  put  to  shame  the 
feeble  signal  fires  lately  gleaming  in  the  mountains. 
Luckily  there  was  no  wind — there  never  was  a  wind  at 
Sandy — and  the  flames  leaped  straight  for  the  zenith, 
lashing  their  way  into  the  huge  black  pillar  of  smoke 
cloud  sailing  aloft  to  the  stars. 

Under  their  sergeants,  running  in  disciplined  order, 
one  company  had  sped  for  the  water  wagon  and  were  now 
slowly  trundling  that  unwieldy  vehicle,  pushing,  pulling, 
straining  at  the  wheels,  from  its  night  berth  close  to  the 
corrals.  Rushing  like  mad,  in  no  order  at  all,  the  men  of 
the  other  company  came  tearing  across  the  open  parade, 
and  were  faced  and  halted  far  out  in  front  of  officers'  row 
by  Blakely  himself,  barefooted  and  clad  only  in  his 
pyjamas,  but  all  alive  with  vim  and  energy. 

"  Back,  men !  back  for  your  blankets ! "  he  cried. 
"  Bring  ladders  and  buckets !  Back  with  you,  lively !  " 
They  seemed  to  catch  his  meaning  at  the  instant.  His 
soldier  home  with  everything  it  contained  was  doomed. 
Nothing  could  save  it.  But  there  stood  the  next  quar 
ters, — Truman's  and  Westervelt's  double  set, — and  in  the 
intense  heat  that  must  speedily  develop,  it  might  well  be 
that  the  dry,  resinous  woodwork  that  framed  the  adobe 
would  blaze  forth  on  its  own  account  and  spread  a  con 
flagration  down  the  line.  Already  Mrs.  Truman,  with 
Norah  and  the  children,  was  being  hurried  down  to  the 
doctor's,  while  Truman  himself,  with  the  aid  of  two  or 
three  neighboring  "  strikers,"  had  stripped  the  beds  of 


WHOSE  LETTERS?  143 

their  single  blanket  and,  bucketing  these  with  water,  was 
slashing  at  the  veranda  roof  and  cornice  along  the  north 
ward  side. 

Somebody  came  with  a  short  ladder,  and  in  an 
other  moment  three  or  four  adventurous  spirits,  led  by 
Blakely  and  Truman,  were  scrambling  about  the  veranda 
roof,  their  hands  and  faces  glowing  in  the  gathering  heat, 
spreading  blankets  over  the  shingling  and  cornice.  In 
five  minutes  all  that  was  left  of  Blakely's  little  homestead 
was  gone  up  in  smoke  and  fierce,  furious  heat  and  flame, 
but  the  daring  and  well-directed  effort  of  the  garrison 
had  saved  the  rest  of  the  line.  In  ten  minutes  nothing 
but  a  heap  of  glowing  beams  and  embers,  within  four 
crumbling  walls  of  adobe,  remained  of  the  "  beetle  shop." 
Bugs,  butterflies,  books,  chests,  desk,  trunks,  furniture, 
papers,  and  such  martial  paraphernalia  as  a  subaltern 
might  require  in  that  desert  land,  had  been  reduced  to 
ashes  before  their  owner's  eyes.  He  had  not  saved  so 
much  as  a  shoe.  His  watch,  lying  on  the  table  by  his 
bedside,  a  silk  handkerchief,  and  a  little  scrap  of  a  note, 
written  in  girlish  hand  and  carried  temporarily  in  the 
breast  pocket,  were  the  only  items  he  had  managed  to 
bring  with  him  into  the  open  air.  He  was  still  gasping, 
gagging,  half-strangling,  when  Captain  Cutler  accosted 
him  to  know  if  he  could  give  the  faintest  explanation  of 
the  starting  of  so  strange  and  perilous  a  fire,  and  Blakely, 
remembering  the  stealthy  footsteps  and  that  locked  or 
bolted  door,  could  not  but  say  he  believed  it  incendiary, 
yet  could  think  of  no  possible  motive. 


144  AN  APACHE  PRINCESS 

It  was  daybreak  as  the  little  group  of  spectators,  women 
and  children  of  the  garrison,  began  to  break  up  and  return 
to  their  homes,  all  talking  excitedly,  all  intolerant  of  the 
experiences  of  others,  and  centered  solely  in  the  narrative 
of  their  own.  Leaving  a  dozen  men  with  buckets, 
readily  rilled  from  the  acequia  which  turned  the  old 
water  wheel  just  across  the  post  of  No.  4,  and  sending  the 
big  water  wagon  down  to  the  stream  for  another  liquid 
load,  the  infantry  went  back  to  their  barracks  and  early 
coffee.  The  drenched  blankets,  one  by  one,  were 
stripped  from  the  gable  end  of  Truman's  quarters,  every 
square  inch  of  the  paint  thereon  being  now  a  patch  of 
tiny  blisters,  and  there,  as  the  dawn  broadened  and  the 
pallid  light  took  on  again  a  tinge  of  rose,  the  officers 
gathered  about  Blakely  in  his  scorched  and  soaked 
pyjamas,  extending  both  condolence  and  congratulation. 

"  The  question  is,  Blakely,"  remarked  Captain  Wester- 
velt  dryly,  "  will  you  go  to  Frisco  to  refit  now,  or  wait 
till  Congress  reimburses  ?  "  whereat  the  scientist  was  ob 
served  to  smile  somewhat  ruefully.  "  The  question  is, 
Bugs,"  burst  in  young  Doty  irrepressibly,  "  will  you 
wear  this  rig,  or  Apache  full  dress,  when  you  ride  after 
Wren?  The  runners  start  at  six,"  whereat  even  the  rue 
ful  smile  was  observed  to  vanish,  and  without  answer 
Blakely  turned  away,  stepping  gingerly  into  the  heated 
sand  with  his  bare  white  feet. 

"  Don't  bother  about  dousing  anything  else,  sergeant," 
said  he  presently,  to  the  soldier  supervising  the  work  of 
the  bucket  squad.  "  The  iron  box  should  be  under  what's 


WHOSE  LETTERS?  145 

left  of  my  desk — about  there,"  and  he  indicated  a  charred 
and  steaming  heap,  visible  through  a  gap  in  the  doubly 
baked  adobe  that  had  once  been  the  side  window.  "  Lug 
that  out  as  soon  as  you  can  cool  things  off.  I'll  probably 
be  back  by  that  time."  Then,  turning  again  to  the  group 
of  officers,  and  ignoring  Doty — Blakely  addressed  him 
self  to  the  senior. 

"  Captain  Cutler,"  said  he,  "  I  can  fit  myself  out  at  the 
troop  quarters  with  everything  I  need  for  the  field,  at 
least,  and  wire  to  San  Francisco  for  what  I  shall  need 
when  we  return.  I  shall  be  ready  to  go  with  Ahorah  at 
six." 

There  was  a  moment  of  silence.  Embarrassment 
showed  plainly  in  almost  every  face.  When  Cutler  spoke 
it  was  with  obvious  effort.  Everybody  realized  that 
Blakely,  despite  severe  personal  losses,  had  been  the 
directing  head  in  checking  the  progress  of  the  flames. 
Truman  had  borne  admirable  part,  but  Blakely  was  at 
once  leader  and  actor.  He  deserved  well  of  his  com 
mander.  He  was  still  far  from  strong.  He  was  weak 
and  weary.  His  hands  and  face  were  scorched  and  in 
places  blistered,  yet,  turning  his  back  on  the  ruins  of  his 
treasures,  he  desired  to  go  at  once  to  join  his  comrades  in 
the  presence  of  the  enemy.  He  had  missed  every  previous 
opportunity  of  sharing  perils  and  battle  with  them.  He 
could  afford  such  loss  as  that  no  longer,  in  view  of  what 
he  knew  had  been  said.  He  had  every  right,  so  thought 
they  all,  to  go,  yet  Cutler  hesitated.  When  at  last  he 
spoke  it  was  to  temporize. 


146  AN  APACHE  PRINCESS 

"  You're  in  no  condition  for  field  work,  Mr.  Blakely," 
said  he.  "  The  doctor  has  so  assured  me,  and  just  now 
things  are  tajdng  such  shape  I — need  you  here." 

"  You  will  permit  me  to  appeal  by  wire,  sir  ?  "  queried 
Blakely,  standing  attention  in  his  bedraggled  night  garb, 
and  forcing  himself  to  a  semblance  of  respect  that  he  was 
far  from  feeling. 

"  I — I  will  consult  Dr.  Graham  and  let  you  know,"  was 
the  captain's  awkward  reply. 

Two  hours  later  Neil  Blakely,  in  a  motley  dress  made  up 
of  collections  from  the  troop  and  trader's  stores — a  com 
bination  costume  of  blue  flannel  shirt,  bandanna  kerchief, 
cavalry  trousers  with  machine-made  saddle  piece,  Tonto 
moccasins  and  leggings,  fringed  gauntlets  and  a  broad- 
brimmed  white  felt  hat,  strode  into  the  messroom  in 
quest  of  eggs  and  coffee.  Doty  had  been  there  and  van 
ished.  Sick  call  was  soimding  and  Graham  was  stalking 
across  the  parade  in  the  direction  of  the  hospital,  too  far 
away  to  be  reached  by  human  voice,  unless  uplifted  to  the 
pitch  of  attracting  the  whole  garrison.  The  telegraph 
operator  had  just  clicked  off  the  last  of  half  a  dozen  mes 
sages  scrawled  by  the  lieutenant — orders  on  San  Fran 
cisco  furnishers  for  the  new  outfit  demanded  by  the  occa 
sion,  etc.,  but  Captain  Cutler  was  still  mured  within  his 
own  quarters,  declining  to  see  Mr.  Blakely  until  ready  to 
come  to  the  office.  Ahorah  and  his  swarthy  partner  were 
already  gone,  "  started  even  before  six,"  said  the  acting 
sergeant  major,  and  Blakely  was  fuming  with  impatience 
and  sense  of  something  much  amiss.  Doty  was  obviously 


WHOSE  LETTERS?  147 

dodging  him,  there  could  be  no  doubt  of  that,  for  the 
youngster  was  between  two  fires,  the  post  commander's 
positive  orders  on  one  hand  and  Blakely's  urgent  plead 
ings  on  the  other. 

Over  at  "  C "  Troop's  quarters  was  the  lieutenant's 
saddle,  ready  packed  with  blanket,  greatcoat,  and  bulg 
ing  saddle-bags.  Over  in  "  C  "  Troop's  stables  was  Delt- 
chay— the  lieutenant's  bronco  charger,  ready  fed  and 
groomed,  wondering  why  he  was  kept  in  when  the  other 
horses  were  out  at  graze.  With  the  saddle  kit  were  the 
troop  carbine  and  revolver,  Blakely's  personal  arms  being 
now  but  stockless  tubes  of  seared  and  blistered  steel. 
Back  of  "  C  "  Troop's  quarters  lolled  a  half-breed  Mexi 
can  packer,  with  a  brace  of  mules,  one  girt  with  saddle, 
the  other  in  shrouding  aparejo — diamond-hitched,  both 
borrowed  from  the  post  trader  with  whom  Blakely's  note 
of  hand  was  good  as  a  government  four  per  cent. — all 
ready  to  follow  the  lieutenant  to  the  field  whither  right 
and  duty  called  him.  There,  too,  was  Nixon,  the  new 
"  striker,"  new  clad  as  was  his  master,  and  full  panoplied 
for  the  field,  yet  bemoaning  the  loss  of  soldier  treasures 
whose  value  was  never  fully  realized  until  they  were  irre 
vocably  gone.  Six  o'clock,  six-thirty,  six-forty-five  and 
even  seven  sped  by  and  still  there  came  no  summons  to  join 
the  soldier  master.  There  had  come  instead,  when  Nixon 
urged  that  he  be  permitted  to  lead  forth  both  his  own 
troop  horse  and  Deltchay,  the  brief,  but  significant  reply : 
"  Shut  yer  gab,  Nixon.  There's  no  horse  goes  till  the 
captain  says  so !  " 


148  AN  APACHE  PRINCESS 

At  seven  o'clock,  at  last,  the  post  commander  came 
forth  from  his  doorway;  saw  across  the  glaring  level  of 
the  parade  the  form  of  Mr.  Blakely  impatiently  pacing  the 
veranda  at  the  adjutant's  office,  and,  instead  of  going 
thither,  as  was  his  wont,  Captain  Cutler  turned  the  other 
way  and  strode  swiftly  to  the  hospital,  where  Graham 
met  him  at  the  bedside  of  Trooper  patient  Patrick  Mul- 
lins.  "  How  is  he  ?  "  queried  Cutler. 

"  Sleeping — thank  God — and  not  to  be  wakened,"  was 
the  Scotchman's  answer.  "  He  had  a  bad  time  of  it  dur 
ing  the  fire." 

"  What  am  I  to  tell  Blakely?  "  demanded  Cutler,  seek 
ing  strength  for  his  faltering  hand.  "  You're  bound  to 
help  me  now,  Graham." 

"  Let  him  go  and  you  may  make  it  worse,"  said  the 
doctor,  with  a  clamp  of  his  grizzled  jaws.  "  Hold  him 
here  and  you're  sure  to." 

"  Can't  you,  as  post  surgeon,  tell  him  he  isn't  fit  to 
ride?" 

"  Not  when  he  rides  the  first  half  of  the  night  and  puts 
out  a  nasty  fire  the  last.  Can't  you,  as  post  commander, 
tell  him  you  forbid  his  going  till  you  hear  from  Byrne 
and  investigate  the  fire  ?  "  If  Graham  had  no  patience 
with  a  frail  woman,  he  had  nothing  but  contempt  for  a 
weak  man.  "  If  he's  bound  to  be  up  and  doing  some 
thing,  though,"  he  added,  "  send  him  out  with  a  squad  of 
men  and  orders  to  hunt  for  Downs." 

Cutler  had  never  even  thought  of  it.  Downs  was  still 
missing.  No  one  had  seen  him.  His  haunts  had  been 


WHOSE  LETTERS?  149 

searched  to  no  purpose.  His  horse  was  still  with  the 
herd.  One  man,  the  sergeant  of  the  guard,  the  previous 
day,  had  marked  the  brief  farewell  between  the  missing 
man  and  the  parting  maid — had  seen  the  woman's  gloved 
hand  stealthily  put  forth  and  the  little  folded  packet 
passed  to  the  soldier's  ready  palm.  What  that  paper  con 
tained  no  man  ventured  to  conjecture.  Cutler  and  Gra 
ham,  notified  by  Sergeant  Kenna  of  what  he  had  seen, 
puzzled  over  it  in  vain.  Norah  Shaughnessy  could  per 
haps  unravel  it,  thought  the  doctor,  but  he  did  not 
say. 

Cutler  came  forth  from  the  shaded  depths  of  the  broad 
hallway  to  face  the  dazzling  glare  of  the  morning  sun 
shine,  and  the  pale,  stern,  reproachful  features  of  the 
homeless  lieutenant,  who  simply  raised  his  hand  in  salute 
and  said :  "  I've  been  ready  two  hours,  sir,  and  the  run 
ners  are  long  gone." 

"  Too  long  and  too  far  for  you  to  catch  them  now," 
said  Cutler,  catching  at  another  straw.  "  And  there  is 
far  more  important  matter  here.  Mr.  Blakely,  I  want 
that  man  Downs  followed,  found,  and  brought  back  to 
this  post,  and  you're  the  only  man  to  do  it.  Take  a 
dozen  troopers,  if  necessary,  and  set  about  it,  sir,  at 
once." 

A  soldier  was  at  the  moment  hurrying  past  the  front  of 
the  hospital,  a  grimy-looking  packet  in  his  hand.  Hear 
ing  the  voice  of  Captain  Cutler,  he  turned,  saw  Lieu 
tenant  Blakely  standing  there  at  attention,  saw  that,  as  the 
captain  finished,  Blakely  still  remained  a  moment  as 


150  AN  APACHE  PRINCESS 

though  about  to  speak — saw  that  he  seemed  a  trifle  dazed 
or  stunned.  Cutler  marked  it,  too.  "  This  is  imperative 
and  immediate,  Mr.  Blakely/'  said  he,  not  unkindly. 
"  Pull  yourself  together  if  you  are  fit  to  go  at  all,  and  lose 
no  more  time."  With  that  he  started  away.  Graham 
had  come  to  the  doorway,  but  Blakely  never  seemed  to 
see  him.  Instead  he  suddenly  roused  and,  turning  sharp, 
sprang  down  the  wooden  steps  as  though  to  overtake  the 
captain,  when  the  soldier,  saluting,  held  forth  the  dingy 
packet. 

"  It  was  warped  out  of  all  shape,  sir,"  said  he.  "  The 
blacksmith  pried  out  the  lid  wid  a  crowbar.  The  books 
are  singed  and  soaked  and  the  packages  charred — all  but 
this." 

It  fell  apart  as  it  passed  from  hand  to  hand,  and  a  lot 
of  letters,  smoke-stained,  scorched  at  the  edges,  and  some 
of  them  soaking  wet,  also  two  or  three  carte  de  visile  pho 
tographs,  were  scattered  on  the  sand.  Both  men  bobbed 
in  haste  to  gather  them  up,  and  Graham  came  hurriedly 
down  to  help.  As  Blakely  straightened  again  he  swayed 
and  staggered  slightly,  and  the  doctor  grasped  him  by  the 
arm,  a  sudden  clutch  that  perhaps  shook  loose  some  of 
the  recovered  papers  from  the  long,  slim  fingers.  At  all 
events,  a  few  went  suddenly  back  to  earth,  and,  as  Cutler 
turned,  wondering  what  was  amiss,  he  saw  Blakely,  with 
almost  ashen  face,  supported  by  the  doctor's  sturdy  arm 
to  a  seat  on  the  edge  of  the  piazza ;  saw,  as  he  quickly  re 
traced  his  steps,  a  sweet  and  smiling  woman's  face  look 
ing  up  at  him  out  of  the  trampled  sands,  and,  even  as  he 


WHOSE  LETTERS?  161 

stooped  to  recover  the  pretty  photograph,  though  it 
looked  far  younger,  fairer,  and  more  winsome  than  ever 
he  had  seen  it,  Cutler  knew  the  face  at  once.  It  was  that 
of  Clarice,  wife  of  Major  Plume.  Whose,  then,  were 
those  scattered  letters? 


CHAPTER  XIV 

AUNT   JANET   BRAVED 

NIGHTFALL  of  a  weary  day  had  come.  Camp 
Sandy,  startled  from  sleep  in  the  dark  hour  be 
fore  the  dawn,  had  found  topic  for  much  excit 
ing  talk,  and  was  getting  tired  as  the  twilight  waned. 
No  word  had  come  from  the  party  sent  in  search  of 
Downs,  now  deemed  a  deserter.  No  sign  of  him  had 
been  found  about  the  post.  No  explanation  had  occurred 
to  either  Cutler  or  Graham  of  the  parting  between  Elise 
and  the  late  "  striker."  She  had  never  been  known  to 
notice  or  favor  him  in  any  way  before.  Her  smiles  and 
coquetries  had  been  lavished  on  the  sergeants.  In  Downs 
there  was  nothing  whatsoever  to  attract  her.  It  was  not 
likely  she  had  given  him  money,  said  Cutler,  because  he 
was  about  the  post  all  that  day  after  the  Plumes'  departure 
and  with  never  a  sign  of  inebriety.  He  could  not  himself 
buy  whisky,  but  among  the  ranchmen,  packers,  and  pros 
pectors  forever  hanging  about  the  post  there  were  plenty 
ready  to  play  middleman  for  anyone  who  could  supply 
the  cash,  and  in  this  way  were  the  orders  of  the  post  com 
mander  made  sometimes  abortive.  Downs  was  gone, 
that  was  certain,  and  the  question  was,  which  way? 

A  sergeant  and  two  men  had  taken  the  Prescott  road ; 
followed  it  to  Dick's  Ranch,  in  the  Cherry  Creek  Valley, 
and  were  assured  the  missing  man  had  never  gone  that 

152 


AUNT  JANET  BRAVED  153 

way.  Dick  was  himself  a  veteran  trooper  of  the  — th. 
He  had  invested  his  savings  in  this  little  estate  and  settled 
thereon  to  grow  up  with  the  country — the  Stannards'  win 
some  Millie  having  accepted  a  life  interest  in  him  and  his 
modest  property.  They  knew  every  man  riding  that  trail, 
from  the  daily  mail  messenger  to  the  semi-occasional 
courier.  Their  own  regiment  had  gone,  but  they  had 
warm  interest  in  its  successors.  They  knew  Downs,  had 
known  him  ever  since  his  younger  days  when,  a  trig 
young  Irish-Englishman,  some  Londoner's'  discharged 
valet,  he  had  'listed  in  the  cavalry,  as  he  expressed  it,  to 
reform.  A  model  of  temperance,  soberness,  and  chastity 
was  Downs  between  times,  and  his  gifts  as  groom  of  the 
chambers,  as  well  as  groom  of  the  stables,  made  him,  when 
a  model,  invaluable  to  bachelor  officers  in  need  of  a  com 
petent  soldier  servant.  In  days  just  after  the  great  war 
he  had  won  fame  and  money  as  a  light  rider.  It  was  then 
that  Lieutenant  Blake  had  dubbed  him  "  Epsom  "  Downs, 
and  well-nigh  quarreled  with  his  chum,  Lieutenant  Ray, 
over  the  question  of  proprietorship  when  the  two  were 
sent  to  separate  stations  and  Downs  was  "  striking  "  for 
both.  Downs  settled  the  matter  by  getting  on  a  seven- 
days'  drunk,  squandering  both  fame  and  money,  and, 
though  forgiven  the  scriptural  seventy  times  seven  (dur 
ing  which  term  of  years  his  name  was  changed  to  Ups  and 
Downs),  finally  forfeited  the  favor  of  both  these  indul 
gent  masters  and  became  thereafter  simply  Downs,  with 
no  ups  of  sufficient  length  to  restore  the  average — much 
less  to  redeem  him.  And  yet,  when  eventually  "  bob- 


154  AN  APACHE  PRINCESS 

tailed  "  out  of  the  — th,  he  had  turned  up  at  the  old  arsenal 
recruiting  depot  at  St.  Louis,  clean-shaven,  neat,  deft- 
handed,  helpful,  to  the  end  that  an  optimistic  troop  com 
mander  "  took  him  on  again,"  in  the  belief  that  a  reform 
had  indeed  been  inaugurated.  But,  like  most  good  sol 
diers,  the  commander  referred  to  knew  little  of  politics  or 
potables,  otherwise  he  would  have  set  less  store  by  the 
strength  of  the  reform  movement  and  more  by  that  of  the 
potations.  Downs  went  so  far  on  the  highroad  to  heaven 
this  time  as  to  drink  nothing  until  his  first  payday. 
Meantime,  as  his  captain's  mercury,  messenger,  and  gen 
eral  utility  man,  moving  much  in  polite  society  at  the  arse 
nal  and  in  town,  he  was  frequently  to  be  seen  about 
Headquarters  of  the  Army,  then  established  by  General 
Sherman  as  far  as  possible  from  Washington  and  as  close 
to  the  heart  of  St.  Louis.  He  learned  something  of  the 
ins  and  outs  of  social  life  in  the  gay  city,  heard  much 
theory  and  little  truth  about  the  time  that  Lieutenant 
Blakely,  returning  suddenly  thereto  after  an  absence  of 
two  months,  during  which  time  frequent  letters  had 
passed  between  him  and  Clarice  Latrobe,  found  that 
Major  Plume  had  been  her  shadow  for  weeks,  her  escort 
to  dance  after  dance,  her  companion  riding,  driving,  din 
ing  day  after  day.  Something  of  this  Blakely  had  heard 
in  letters  from  friends.  Little  or  nothing  thereof  had  he 
heard  from  her.  The  public  never  knew  what  passed  be 
tween  them  (Elise,  her  maid,  was  better  informed).  But 
Blakely  within  the  day  left  town  again,  and  within  the 
jveek  there  appeared  the  announcement  of  her  forthcom- 


AUNT  JANET  BRAVED  155 

ing  marriage,  Plume  the  presumably  happy  man.  Downs 
got  full  the  first  payday  after  his  re-enlistment,  as  has 
been  said,  and  drunk,  as  in  duty  bound,  at  the  major's 
"  swagger  "  wedding.  It  was  after  this  episode  he  fell 
utterly  from  grace  and  went  forth  to  the  frontier  irre- 
claimably  "  Downs."  It  was  a  seven-days'  topic  of  talk 
at  Sandy  that  Lieutenant  Blakely,  when  acting  Indian 
agent  at  the  reservation,  should  have  accepted  the  services 
of  this  unpromising  specimen  as  "  striker."  It  was  a  seven- 
weeks'  wonder  that  Downs  kept  the  pact,  and  sober  as  a 
judge,  from  the  hour  he  joined  the  Bugologist  to  the  night 
that  self-contained  young  officer  was  sent  crashing  into 
his  beetle  show  under  the  impact  of  Wren's  furious  fist. 
Then  came  the  last  pound  that  broke  the  back  of  Downs' 
wavering  resolution,  and  now  had  come — what?  The 
sergeant  and  party  rode  back  from  Dick's  to  tell  Captain 
Cutler  the  deserter  had  not  taken  the  Cherry  Creek  road. 
Another  party  just  in  reported  similarly  that  he  had  not 
taken  the  old,  abandoned  Grief  Hill  trail.  Still  another 
returned  from  down-stream  ranches  to  say  he  could  not 
have  taken  that  route  without  being  seen — and  he  had  not 
been  seen.  Ranchman  Strom  would  swear  to  that  be 
cause  Downs  was  in  his  debt  for  value  received  in  shape 
of  whisky,  and  Strom  was  rabid  at  the  idea  of  his  getting 
away.  In  fine,  as  nothing  but  Downs  was  missing,  it  be 
came  a  matter  of  speculation  along  toward  tattoo  as  to 
whether  Downs  could  have  taken  anything  at  all — except 
possibly  his  own  life. 

Cutler  was  now   desirous  of  questioning  Blakely  at 


156  AN  APACHE  PRINCESS 

length,  and  obtaining-  his  views  and  theories  as  to  Downs, 
for  Cutler  believed  that  Blakely  had  certain  well-defined 
views  which  he  was  keeping  to  himself.  Between  these 
two,  however,  had  grown  an  unbridgeable  gulf.  Dr. 
Graham  had  declared  at  eight  o'clock  that  morning  that 
Mr.  Blakely  was  still  so  weak  that  he  ought  not  to  go 
with  the  searching  parties,  and  on  receipt  of  this  dictum 
Captain  Cutler  had  issued  his,  to  wit,  that  Blakely 
should  not  go  either  in  search  of  Downs  or  in  pursuit 
of  Captain  Wren.  It  stung  Blakely  and  angered  him 
even  against  Graham,  steeling  him  against  the  post 
commander.  Each  of  these  gentlemen  begged  him  to 
make  his  temporary  home  under  his  roof,  and  Blakely 
would  not.  "  Major  Plume's  quarters  are  now  vacant, 
then,"  said  Cutler  to  Graham.  "  If  he  won't  come  to  you 
or  to  me,  let  him  take  a  room  there."  This,  too,  Blakely 
refused.  He  reddened,  what  is  more,  at  the  suggestion. 
He  sent  Ni*on  down  to  Mr.  Hart's,  the  trader's,  to  ask  if 
he  could  occupy  a  spare  room  there,  and  when  Hart  said, 
yes,  most  certainly,  Cutler  reddened  in  turn  when  told  of 
it,  and  sent  Lieutenant  Doty,  the  adjutant,  to  say  that  the 
post  commander  could  not  "  consent  to  an  officer's  occupy 
ing  quarters  outside  the  garrison  when  there  was  abun 
dant  room  within."  Then  came  Truman  and  Westervelt 
to  beg  Blakely  to  come  to  them.  Then  came  a  note  from 
Mrs.  Sanders,  reminding  him  that,  as  an  officer  of  the 
cavalry,  it  would  be  casting  reflections  on  his  own  corps 
to  go  and  dwell  with  aliens.  "  Captain  Sanders  would 
never  forgive  me,"  said  she,  "  if  you  did  not  take  our 


AUNT  JANET  BRAVED  157 

spare  room.  Indeed,  I  shall  feel  far  safer  with  a  man  in 
the  house  now  that  we  are  having  fires  and  Indian  out 
breaks  and  prisoners  escaping  and  all  that  sort  of  thing. 
Do  come,  Mr.  Blakely."  And  in  that  blue  flannel  shirt 
and  the  trooper  trousers  and  bandanna  neckerchief,  Blakely 
went  and  thanked  her;  sent  for  Nixon  and  his  saddle 
bags,  and  with  such  patience  as  was  possible  settled  down 
forthwith.  Truth  to  tell  it  was  high  time  he  settled 
somewhere,  for  excitement,  exposure,  physical  ill,  and 
mental  torment  had  told  upon  him  severely.  At  sunset, 
as  he  seemed  too  miserable  to  leave  his  room  and  come  to 
the  dining  table,  Mrs.  Sanders  sent  for  the  doctor,  and 
reluctantly  Blakely  let  him  in. 

That  evening,  just  after  tattoo  had  sounded,  Kate 
Sanders  and  Angela  were  having  murmured  conference 
on  the  Wrens'  veranda.  Aunt  Janet  had  gone  to  hos 
pital  to  carry  unimpeachable  jelly  to  the  several  patients 
and  dubious  words  of  cheer.  Jelly  they  absorbed  with 
much  avidity  and  her  words  with  meek  resignation.  Mul- 
lins,  she  thought,  after  his  dreadful  experience  and  close 
touch  with  death,  must  be  in  receptive  mood  and  re 
pentant  of  his  sins.  Of  just  what  sins  to  repent  poor 
Pat  might  still  be  unsettled  in  his  mind.  It  was  sufficient 
that  he  had  them,  as  all  soldiers  must  have,  said  Miss 
Wren,  and  now  that  his  brain  seemed  clearing  and  the 
fever  gone  and  he  was  too  weak  and  helpless  to  resist, 
the  time  seemed  ripe  for  the  sowing  of  good  seed,  and 
Janet  went  to  sow. 

But  there  by  Mullins's  bed,  all  unabashed  at  Janet's 


158  AN  APACHE  PRINCESS 

marked  disapprobation,  sat  Norah  Shaughnessy.  There, 
in  flannel  shirt  and  trooper  trousers  and  bandanna  necker 
chief,  pale,  but  collected,  stood  the  objectionable  Mr. 
Blakely.  He  was  bending  over,  saying  something  to 
Mullins,  as  she  halted  in  the  open  doorway,  and  Blakely, 
looking  quickly  up,  went  with  much  civility  to  greet  and 
escort  her  within.  To  his  courteous,  "  Good-evening, 
Miss  Wren,  may  I  relieve  you  of  your  basket  ?  "  she  re 
turned  prompt  negative  and,  honoring  him  with  no  fur 
ther  notice,  stood  and  gazed  with  Miss  Shaughnessy  at  the 
focus — Miss  Shaughnessy  who,  after  one  brief  glance, 
turned  a  broad  Irish  back  on  the  intruder  at  the  doorway 
and  resumed  her  murmuring  to  Mullins. 

"  Is  the  doctor  here — or  Steward  Griffin  ?  "  spoke  the 
lady,  to  the  room  at  large,  looking  beyond  the  lieutenant 
and  toward  the  single  soldier  attendant  present. 

"  The  doctor  and  the  steward  are  both  at  home  just 
now,  Miss  Wren/'  said  Blakely.  "  May  I  offer  you  a 
chair?" 

Miss  Wren  preferred  to  stand. 

"  I  wish  to  speak  with  Steward  Griffin,"  said  she  again. 
"  Can  you  go  for  him?  "  this  time  obviously  limiting  her 
language  to  the  attendant  himself,  and  carefully  exclud 
ing  Mr.  Blakely  from  the  field  of  her  recognition.  The 
attendant  dumbly  shook  his  head.  So  Aunt  Janet  tried 
again. 

"  Norah,  you  know  where  the  steward  lives,  will 

you "  But  Blakely  saw  rebellion  awake  again  in 

Ireland  and  interposed. 


AUNT  JANET  BRAVED  159 

"  The  steward  shall  be  here  at  once,  Miss  Wren,"  said 
he,  and  tiptoed  away.  The  lady's  doubtful  eye  turned 
and  followed  him  a  moment,  then  slowly  she  permitted 
herself  to  enter.  Griffin,  heading  for  the  dispensary  at 
the  moment  and  apprised  of  her  visit,  came  hurrying  in. 
Blakely,  pondering  over  the  few  words  Mullins  had  faintly 
spoken,  walked  slowly  over  toward  the  line.  His  talk 
with  Graham  had  in  a  measure  stilled  the  spirit  of  rancor 
that  had  possessed  him  earlier  in  the  day.  Graham,  at 
least,  was  stanch  and  steadfast,  not  a  weathercock  like 
Cutler.  Graham  had  given  him  soothing  medicine  and 
advised  his  strolling  a  while  in  the  open  air — he  had  slept 
so  much  of  the  stifling  afternoon — and  now,  hearing  the 
sound  of  women's  voices  on  the  dark  veranda  nearest  him, 
he  veered  to  the  left,  passed  around  the  blackened  ruin 
of  his  own  quarters  and  down  along  the  rear  of  the  line 
just  as  the  musician  of  the  guard  was  sounding  "  Lights 
Out "— "  Taps." 

And  then  a  sudden  thought  occurred  to  him.  Sen 
tries  began  challenging  at  taps.  He  was  close  to  the  post 
of  No.  5.  He  could  even  see  the  shadowy  form  of  the 
sentry  slowly  pacing  toward  him,  and  here  he  stood  in  the 
garb  of  a  private  soldier  instead  of  his  official  dress.  It 
caused  him  quickly  to  veer  again,  to  turn  to  his  right,  the 
west,  and  to  enter  the  open  space  between  the  now  de 
serted  quarters  of  the  permanent  commander  and  those  of 
Captain  Wren  adjoining  them  to  the  north.  Another 
moment  and  he  stopped  short.  Girlish  voices,  low  and 
murmurous,  fell  upon  his  ear.  In  a  moment  he  had 


160  AN  APACHE  PRINCESS 

recognized  them.  "  It  won't  take  me  two  minutes,  Angela. 
I'll  go  and  get  it  now,"  were  the  first  words  distinctly 
heard,  and,  with  a  rustle  of  skirts,  Kate  Sanders  bounded 
lightly  from  the  piazza  to  the  sands  and  disappeared 
around  the  corner  of  the  major's  quarters,  going  in  the 
direction  of  her  home.  For  the  first  time  in  many  event 
ful  days  Blakely  stood  almost  within  touch  of  the  girl 
whose  little  note  was  even  then  nestling  in  an  inner  pocket, 
and  they  were  alone. 

"Miss  Angela!" 

Gently  he  spoke  her  name,  but  the  effect  was  startling. 
She  had  been  reclining  in  a  hammock,  and  at  sound  of 
his  voice  struggled  suddenly  to  a  sitting  posture,  a  low  cry 
on  her  lips.  In  some  strange  way,  in  the  darkness,  the 
fright,  confusion, — whatever  it  may  have  been, — she  lost 
her  balance  and  her  seat.  The  hammock  whirled  from 
under  her,  and  with  exasperating  thump,  unharmed  but 
wrathful,  the  girl  was  tumbled  to  the  resounding  floor. 
Blakely  sprang  to  her  aid,  but  she  was  up  in  the  split  of  a 
second,  scorning,  or  not  seeing,  his  eager,  outstretched 
hand. 

"  My — Miss  Angela !  "  he  began,  all  anxiety  and  dis 
tress,  "  I  hope  you're  not  hurt,"  and  the  outstretched 
hands  were  trembling. 

"  I  know  I'm  not,"  was  the  uncompromising  reply, 
"  not  in  the  least ;  startled — that's  all !  Gentlemen  don't 
usually  come  upon  one  that  way — in  the  dark."  She  was 
panting  a  bit,  but  striving  bravely,  angrily,  to  be  calm  and 
cool — icy  cool. 


AUNT  JANET  BRAVED  161 

"  Nor  would  I  have  come  that  way/'  then,  stupidly, 
"  had  I  known  you  were — here.  Forgive  me." 

How  could  she,  after  that?  She  had  no  wish  to  see 
him,  so  she  had  schooled  herself.  She  would  decline  to 
see  him,  were  he  to  ask  for  her  at  the  door ;  but,  not  for  an 
instant  did  she  wish  to  hear  that  he  did  not  wish  to  see 
her,  yet  he  had  haplessly,  brusquely  said  he  wouldn't  have 
come  had  he  known  she  was  there.  It  was  her  duty  to 
leave  him,  instantly.  It  was  her  desire  first  to  punish 
him. 

"  My  aunt  is  not  at  home,"  she  began,  the  frost  of  the 
Sierras  in  her  tone. 

"  I  just  left  her,  a  moment  ago,  at  the  hospital,"  said  he, 
steadfastly  ignoring  her  repellent  tone.  Indeed,  if  any 
thing,  the  tone  rejoiced  him,  for  it  told  a  tale  she  would 
not  have  told  for  realms  and  empires.  He  was  ten  years 
older  and  had  lived.  "  But — forgive  me,"  he  went  on, 
"  you  are  trembling,  Miss  Angela."  She  was,  and 
loathed  herself,  and  promptly  denied  it.  He  gravely 
placed  a  chair.  "  You  fell  heavily,  and  it  must  have 
jarred  you.  Please  sit  down,"  and  stepping  to  the  olla, 
"  let  me  bring  you  some  water." 

She  was  weak.  Her  knees,  her  hands,  were  shaking  as 
they  never  shook  before.  He  had  seen  her  aunt  at  the 
hospital.  He  had  left  her  aunt  there  without  a  moment's 
delay  that  he  might  hasten  to  see  her,  Angela.  He  was 
here  and  bending  over  her,  with  brimming  gourd  of  cool 
spring  water.  Nay,  more,  with  one  hand  he  pressed  it  to 
her  lips,  with  the  other  he  held  his  handkerchief  so  that  the 


162  AN  APACHE  PRINCESS 

drops  might  not  fall  upon  her  gown.  He  was  bending 
over  her,  so  close  she  could  hear,  she  thought,  the  swift 
beating  of  his  heart.  She  knew  that  if  what  Aunt  Janet 
had  told,  and  her  father  had  seen,  of  him  were  true,  she 
would  rather  die  than  suffer  a  touch  of  his  hand.  Yet 
one  hand  had  touched  her,  gently,  yet  firmly,  as  he  helped 
her  to  the  chair,  and  the  touch  she  loathed  was  sweet  to 
her  in  spite  of  herself.  From  the  moment  of  their  first 
meeting  this  man  had  done  what  no  other  man  had  done 
before — spoken  to  her  and  treated  her  as  a  grown  woman, 
with  a  man's  admiration  in  his  fine  blue  eyes,  with  defer 
ence  in  word  and  chivalric  grace  in  manner.  And  in  spite 
of  the  mean  things  whispered  about  him — about  him  and 
— anybody,  she  had  felt  her  young  heart  going  out  to  him, 
her  buoyant,  joyous,  healthful  nature  opening  and  ex 
panding  in  the  sunshine  of  his  presence.  And  now  he 
had  come  to  seek  her,  after  all  the  peril  and  excitement 
and  trouble  he  had  undergone,  and  now,  all  loverlike 
tenderness  and  concern,  was  bending  over  her  and  mur 
muring  to  her,  his  deep  voice  almost  as  tremulous  as  her 
hand.  Oh,  it  couldn't  be  true  that  he — cared  for — was 
interested  in — that  woman,  the  major's  wife!  Not  that 
she  ought  to  care  one  way  or  another,  except  that  it  was 
so  despicable — so  unlike  him.  Yet  she  had  promised  her 
self — had  virtually  promised  her  father — that  she  would 
hold  far  aloof  from  this  man,  and  here  he  stood,  so  close 
that  their  heart-beats  almost  intermingled,  and  he  was  tell 
ing  her  that  he  wished  she  had  kept  and  never  returned 
the  little  butterfly  net,  for  now,  when  it  had  won  a  value  it 


AUNT  JANET  BRAVED  163 

never  before  had  known,  it  was  his  fate  to  lose  it.  "  And 
now,"  he  said,  "  I  hope  to  be  sent  to-morrow  to  join  your 
father  in  the  field,  and  I  wish  to  tell  you  that,  whenever  I 
go,  I  shall  first  come  to  see  what  you  may  have  to  send  to 
him.  Will  you — be  here,  Miss  Angela?  " 

For  a  moment — silence.  She  was  thinking  of  her 
duty  to  her  father,  of  her  implied  promise,  of  all  that 
Janet  had  told  her,  and  so  thinking  could  not  for  the  mo 
ment  answer — could  not  meet  his  earnest  gaze.  Dark  as 
it  was  she  felt,  rather  than  saw,  the  glow  of  his  deep  blue 
eyes.  She  could  not  mistake  the  tenderness  of  his  tone. 
She  had  so  believed  in  him.  He  seemed  so  far  above  the 
callow,  vapid,  empty-headed  youngsters  the  other  girls 
were  twittering  about  from  morn  till  night.  She  felt  that 
she  believed  in  him  now,  no  matter  what  had  been  said  or 
who  had  said  it.  She  felt  that  if  he  would  but  say  it  was 
all  a  mistake — that  no  woman  had  crossed  his  threshold, 
all  Camp  Sandy  might  swear  to  the  truth  of  the  story,  and 
she  would  laugh  at  it.  But  how  could  she  ask  such  a  thing 
of  him  ?  Her  cheeks  took  fire  at  the  thought.  It  was  he 
who  broke  the  silence. 

"  Something  has  happened  to  break  your  faith  in  me, 
Miss  Angela,"  said  he,  with  instant  gravity.  "  I  certainly 
had  it — I  know  I  had  it — not  a  week  ago  " ;  and  now  he 
had  dropped  to  a  seat  in  the  swaying  hammock,  and  with 
calm  strength  and  will  bent  toward  her  and  compelled 
her  attention.  "  I  have  a  right  to  know,  as  matters 
stand.  Will  you  tell  me,  or  must  I  wait  until  I  see  your 
father?  "  With  that  Neil  Blakely  actually  sought  to  take 


164  AN  APACHE  PRINCESS 

her  hand.  She  whipped  it  behind  her  at  the  instant. 
"  Will  you  tell  me  ?  "  he  repeated,  bending  closer. 

From  down  the  line,  dancing  along  the  wooden  veranda, 
came  the  sound  of  swift  footfalls — Kate  Sanders  hurry 
ing  back.  Another  moment  and  it  would  be  too  late. 
The  denial  she  longed  to  hear  from  his  lips  might  never 
be  spoken.  If  spoken  at  all  it  must  be  here  and  now,  yet 
how  could  she — how  could  she  ask  him? 

"  I  will  tell  you,  Mr.  Blakely."  The  words  came  from 
the  window  of  the  darkened  parlor,  close  at  hand.  The 
voice  was  that  of  Janet  Wren,  austere  and  uncompromis 
ing.  "  I  got  here  in  time  to  hear  your  question — I  will 
answer  for  my  niece " 

"Aunt  Janet— No!" 

"  Be  quiet,  Angela.  Mr.  Blakely,  it  is  because  this 
child's  father  saw,  and  I  heard  of,  that  which  makes 
you  unworthy  the  faith  of  a  young,  pure-hearted  girl. 
Who  was  the — the  creature  to  whom  you  opened  your 
door  last  Wednesday  midnight?  " 

Kate  Sanders,  singing  softly,  blithely,  came  tripping 
along  the  major's  deserted  veranda,  her  fresh  young  voice, 
glad,  yet  subdued,  caroling  the  words  of  a  dear  old  song 
that  Parepa  had  made  loved  and  famous  full  ten  years 

before : 

"  And  as  he  lingered  by  her  side, 
In  spite  of  his  comrade's  warning 
The  old,  old  story  was  told  again 
At  five  o'clock  in  the  morning." 

Then  came  sudden  silence,  as  springing  to  the  sandy 
ground,  the  singer  reached  the  Wrens'  veranda  and  saw 


AUNT  JANET  BRAVED  165 

the  dim  form  of  Mr.  Blakely,  standing  silently  confront 
ing  a  still  dimmer  form,  faintly  visible  at  the  side  window 
against  the  soft,  tempered  light  of  the  hanging  lamp  in 
the  hall. 

"  Who  was  the  creature  ?  "  I  repeat,  were  the  strange 
words,  in  Miss  Wren's  most  telling  tone,  that  brought 
Kate  Sanders  to  a  halt,  startled,  silent. 

Then  Blakely  answered :  "  Some  day  I  shall  tell  Miss 
Angela,  madam,  but  never — you.  Good-night." 


CHAPTER  XV 

A    CALL   FOR    HELP 

THAT  night  the  wire  across  the  mountains  to 
Prescott  was  long  alive  with  news,  and  there 
was  little  rest  for  operator,  adjutant,  or  com 
manding  officer  at  Sandy.  Colonel  Byrne,  it  seems,  had 
lost  telegraphic  touch  with  his  chief,  who,  quitting  Camp 
McDowell,  had  personally  taken  the  field  somewhere  over 
in  the  Tonto  Basin  beyond  the  Matitzal  Range,  and  Byrne 
had  the  cares  of  a  continent  on  his  hands.  Three  of  the 
five  commands  out  in  the  field  had  had  sharp  encounters 
with  the  foe.  Official  business  itself  was  sufficiently  en 
grossing,  but  there  were  other  matters  assuming  grave 
proportions.  Mrs.  Plume  had  developed  a  feverish  anx 
iety  to  hie  on  to  the  Pacific  and  out  of  Arizona  just  at  a 
time  when,  as  her  husband  had  to  tell  her,  it  was  impos 
sible  for  him,  and  impolitic  for  her,  to  go.  Matters  at 
Sandy,  he  explained,  were  in  tangled  shape.  Mullins 
partially  restored,  but  still,  as  Plume  assured  her,  utterly 
out  of  his  head,  had  declared  that  his  assailants  were 
women;  and  other  witnesses,  Plume  would  not  give 
names,  had  positively  asserted  that  Elise  had  been  seen 
along  the  sentry  post  just  about  the  time  the  stabbing 
occurred.  Everything  now,  said  he,  must  depend  on  Cap 
tain  Wren,  who  was  known  to  have  seen  and  spoken  to 


A  CALL  FOR  HELP  167 

Elise,  and  who  could  probably  testify  that  she  returned  to 
their  roof  before  the  tragic  affair  of  the  night.  But  Wren 
was  now  away  up  in  the  mountains  beyond  Snow  Lake 
and  might  be  going  far  over  through  Sunset  Pass  to  the 
Colorado  Chiquito.  Meantime  he,  Plume,  was  respon 
sible  for  Elise,  in  duty  bound  to  keep  her  there  to  face 
any  accuser.  In  her  nervous,  semi-hysterical  state  the 
wife  could  not  well  be  told  how  much  she,  too,  was  in 
volved.  It  was  not  necessary.  She  knew — all  Fort 
Whipple,  as  Prescott's  military  post  was  called,  knew  all 
about  the  fire  that  had  destroyed  the  "  beetle  shop  "  and 
Blakely's  belongings.  Elise,  in  wild  excitement,  had 
rushed  to  her  mistress  with  that  news  and  the  further  in 
formation  that  Downs  was  gone  and  could  not  be  found. 
This  latter  fact,  indeed,  they  learned  before  Plume 
ever  heard  of  it — and  made  no  mention  of  it  in  his 
presence. 

"  I  shall  have  to  run  down  to  Sandy  again,"  said  Byrne, 
to  Plume.  "  Keep  up  your  heart  and — watch  that  French 
woman.  The  jade !  "  And  with  the  following  day  he  was 
bounding  and  bumping  down  the  stony  road  that  led 
from  the  breezy,  pine-crested  heights  about  headquarters 
to  the  sandy  flats  and  desert  rocks  and  ravines  fifty  miles 
to  the  east  and  twenty-five  hundred  feet  below.  "  Shall  be 
with  you  after  dark,"  he  wired  Cutler,  who  was  having  a 
bad  quarter  of  an  hour  on  his  own  account,  and  wishing 
all  Sandy  to  the  devil.  It  had  transpired  that  Strom's 
rival  ranchman,  a  little  farther  down  the  valley,  was  short 
just  one  horse  and  set  of  horse  equipments.  He  had  made 


168  AN  APACHE  PRINCESS 

no  complaint.  He  had  accused  nobody.  He  had  never 
failed  in  the  past  to  appear  at  Sandy  with  charge  of  theft 
and  demand  for  damages  at  the  expense  of  the  soldiery 
whenever  he  missed  an  item,  big  or  little — and  sometimes 
when  he  didn't  miss  a  thing.  But  now  he  came  not  at  all, 
and  Cutler  jumped  at  the  explanation:  he  had  sold  that 
steed,  and  Downs,  the  deserter,  was  the  purchaser. 
Downs  must  have  had  money  to  aid  in  his  escape. 
Downs  must  have  received  it  from  someone  eager  to  get 
him  out  of  the  way.  It  might  well  be  Elise,  for  who  else 
would  trust  him?  and  Downs  must  be  striking  for  the 
south,  after  wide  detour.  No  use  now  to  chase  him.  The 
wire  was  the  only  thing  with  which  to  round  him  up,  so 
the  stage  stations  on  the  Gila  route,  and  the  scattered 
army  posts,  were  all  notified  of  the  desertion,  and  Downs's 
description,  with  all  his  imperfections,  was  flashed  far 
and  wide  over  the  Territory.  He  could  no  more  hope  to 
escape  than  fly  on  the  wings  of  night.  He  would  be  cut 
off  or  run  down  long  before  he  could  reach  Mexico ;  that 
is,  he  would  be  if  only  troopers  got  after  him.  The  civil 
list  of  Arizona  in  1875  was  of  peculiar  constitution.  It 
stood  ready  at  any  time  to  resolve  itself  into  a  modifica 
tion  of  the  old-day  underground  railways,  and  help  spirit 
off  soldier  criminals,  first  thoughtfully  relieving  them  of 
care  and  responsibility  for  any  surplus  funds  in  their 
possession. 

And  with  Downs  gone  one  way,  Wren's  troop  gone 
another,  and  Blakely  here  clamoring  to  follow,  Cutler  was 
mentally  torn  out  of  shape.  He  believed  it  his  duty  to 


A  CALL  FOR  HELP  169 

hold  Blakely  at  least  until  the  colonel  came,  and  he  lacked 
the  "  sand  "  to  tell  him  so. 

From  Wren  not  another  word  had  been  received  direct, 
but  Bridger  at  the  agency  had  sent  word  that  the  Indians 
there  were  constantly  in  receipt  of  news  from  the  hos- 
tiles  that  filled  them  with  excitement.  Wren,  at  last  ac 
counts,  had  gone  into  the  mountains  south  of  Sunset  Pass 
toward  Chevlon's  Fork,  and  his  trail  was  doubtless 
watched  to  head  off  couriers  or  cut  down  stragglers. 
Blakely 's  appeal  to  be  allowed  to  follow  and  join  his 
troop  had  been  declared  foolish,  and  the  attempt  fool 
hardy,  by  Captain  Cutler.  This  and  not  the  real  reason 
was  given,  coupled  of  course,  with  the  doctor's  dictum. 
But  even  Graham  had  begun  to  think  Blakely  would  be 
the  better  for  anything  that  would  take  him  away  from  a 
station  where  life  had  been  one  swift  succession  of  ills  and 
mishaps. 

And  even  Graham  did  not  dream  how  sorely  Blakely 
had  been  hit.  Nor  could  he  account  for  the  access  of  ner 
vous  irritability  that  possessed  his  patient  all  the  livelong 
day,  while  waiting,  as  they  all  were,  for  the  coming  of 
Colonel  Byrne.  Mrs.  Sanders  declared  to  Mrs.  Graham 
her  private  impression  that  he  was  on  the  verge  of  pros 
tration,  although,  making  an  effort,  Blakely  had  appeared 
at  breakfast  after  an  early  morning  walk,  had  been  most 
courteous,  gentle,  and  attentive  to  her  and  to  her  whole 
some,  if  not  actually  homely,  Kate.  How  the  mother's 
heart  yearned  over  that  sweet-natured,  sallow-faced  child ! 
But  after  breakfast  Blakely  had  wandered  off  again  and 


170  AN  APACHE  PRINCESS 

was  out  on  the  mesa,  peering  through  a  pair  of  borrowed 
glasses  over  the  dreary  eastward  landscape  and  up  and 
down  the  deep  valley.  "  How  oddly  are  we  constituted !  " 
said  Mrs.  Sanders.  "  If  I  only  had  his  money,  I'd  never 
be  wearing  my  heart  out  in  this  desert  land."  She  was 
not  the  only  army  wife  and  mother  that  should  have  mar 
ried  a  stockbroker — anything  rather  than  a  soldier. 

The  whole  post  knew  by  noon  that  Byrne  was  coming, 
and  waited  with  feverish  impatience.  Byrne  was  the 
power  that  would  put  an  end  to  the  doubts  and  distrac 
tions,  decide  who  stabbed  Pat  Mullins,  who  set  fire  to  the 
"  beetle  shop,"  where  Epsom  Downs  had  gone,  and  could 
even  settle,  possibly,  the  long-doubtful  question,  "  Who 
struck  Billy  Patterson  ?  "  Sandy  believed  in  Byrne  as  it 
did  in  no  one  since  the  days  of  General  Crook.  With 
two  exceptions,  all  Sandy  society  was  out  on  the  parade, 
the  porticoes,  or  the  northward  bluff,  as  the  sun  went 
down.  These  two  were  the  Misses  Wren.  "Angela," 
said  Miss  Janet,  "  is  keeping  her  room  to-day,  and  pre 
tending  to  keep  her  temper  " — this  to  Kate  Sanders,  who 
had  twice  sought  admission,  despite  a  girlish  awe  of,  if 
not  aversion  to,  this  same  Aunt  Janet. 

"  But  don't  you  think  she'd  like  to  see  me  just  a  little 
while,  Miss  Wren?  "  the  girl  inquired,  her  hand  caressing 
the  sleek  head  of  one  of  the  big  hounds  as  she  spoke. 
Hounds  were  other  objects  of  Miss  Wren's  disfavor. 
"  Lazy,  pilfering  brutes,"  she  called  them,  when  after 
hours  of  almost  incredible  labor  and  ingenious  effort  they 
had  managed  to  tear  down,  and  to  pieces,  a  haunch  of 


A  CALL  FOR  HELP  171 

venison  she  had  slung  to  the  rafters  of  the  back  porch. 
"  You  can  come  in,  Kate,  provided  you  keep  out  the 
dogs,"  was  her  ungracious  answer,  "  and  I'll  go  see.  I 
think  she's  sleeping  now,  and  ought  not  to  be  disturbed." 

"  Then  I  won't  disturb  her,"  was  Miss  Sanders's 
prompt  reply,  as  she  turned  away  and  would  have  gone, 
but  the  elder  restrained  her.  Janet  did  not  wish  the  girl 
to  go  at  all.  She  knew  Angela  had  asked  for  her,  and 
doubtless  longed  to  see  her;  and  now,  having  adminis 
tered  her  feline  scratch  and  made  Kate  feel  the  weight  of 
her  disapproval,  she  was  quite  ready  to  promote  the  very 
interview  she  had  verbally  condemned.  Perhaps  Miss 
Sanders  saw  and  knew  this  and  preferred  to  worry  Miss 
Wren  as  much  as  possible.  At  all  events,  only  with  re 
luctance  did  she  obey  the  summons  to  wait  a  minute,  and 
stood  with  a  pout  on  her  lips  as  the  spinster  vanished  in 
the  gloom  of  the  hallway.  Angela  could  not  have  been 
asleep,  for  her  voice  was  audible  in  an  instant.  "  Come 
up,  Kate,"  she  feebly  cried,  just  as  Aunt  Janet  had  begun 
her  little  sermon,  and  the  sermon  had  to  stop,  for  Kate 
Sanders  came,  and  neither  lass  was  in  mood  to  listen  to 
pious  exhortation.  Moreover,  they  made  it  manifest  to 
Aunt  Janet  that  there  would  be  no  interchange  of  confi 
dences  until  she  withdrew.  "  You  are  not  to  talk  your 
selves  into  a  pitch  of  excitement,"  said  she.  "Angela 
must  sleep  to-night  to  make  up  for  the  hours  she  lost — 
thanks  to  the  abominable  remarks  of  that  hardened  young 
man."  With  that,  after  a  pull  at  the  curtain,  a  soothing 
thump  or  two  at  Angela's  pillow,  and  the  muttered  wish 


172  AN  APACHE  PRINCESS 

that  the  coming  colonel  were  empowered  to  arrest  recal 
citrant  nieces  as  well  as  insubordinate  subs,  she  left  them 
to  their  own  devices.  They  were  still  in  eager,  almost 
breathless  chat  when  the  crack  of  whip  and  sputter  of 
hoofs  and  wheels  through  gravelly  sands  told  that  the  in 
spector's  ambulance  had  come.  Was  it  likely  that  Angela 
could  sleep  until  she  heard  the  probable  result  of  the  in 
spector's  coming? 

He  was  closeted  first  with  Cutler.  Then  Dr.  Graham 
was  sent  for,  and  the  three  walked  over  to  the  hospital, 
just  as  the  musicians  were  forming  for  tattoo.  They 
were  at  Mullins's  bedside,  with  the  steward  and  attend 
ants  outside,  when  taps  went  wailing  out  upon  the  night. 
There  were  five  minutes  of  talk  with  that  still  bewildered 
patient.  Then  Byrne  desired  to  see  Mr.  Blakely  at  once 
and  alone.  Cutler  surrendered  his  office  to  the  depart 
ment  inspector,  and  thither  the  lieutenant  was  summoned. 
Mrs.  Sanders,  with  Mrs.  Truman,  was  keeping  little  Mrs. 
Bridger  company  at  the  moment,  and  Blakely  bowed 
courteously  to  the  three  in  passing  by. 

"  Even  in  that  rough  dress,"  said  Mrs.  Sanders  reflec 
tively,  as  her  eyes  followed  the  tall,  straight  figure  over 
the  moonlit  parade,  "  he  is  a  most  distinguished  looking 
man." 

"  Yes,"  said  Mrs.  Bridger,  still  unappeased.  "  If  he 
were  a  Sioux,  I  suppose  they'd  call  him  '  Man-In- 
Love-With-His-Legs.' "  Blakely  heard  the  bubble  of 
laughter  that  followed  him  on  his  way,  and  wished  that 
he,  too,  felt  in  mood  as  merry.  The  acting  sergeant 


A  CALL  FOR  HELP  173 

major,  a  clerk,  and  young  Cassidy,  the  soldier  telegraph 
operator,  seated  at  the  westward  end  of  the  rough  board 
porch  of  the  adjutant's  office,  arose  and  saluted  as  he  en 
tered.  Byrne  had  sent  every  possible  hearer  out  of  the 
building. 

Five  minutes  the  conference  lasted,  no  sound  coming 
from  within.  Cutler  and  Graham,  with  Captain  Wester- 
velt,  sat  waiting  on  the  porch  of  the  doctor's  quarters, 
Mrs.  Graham  being  busy  with  her  progeny  aloft.  Others 
of  the  officers  and  families  were  also  on  the  piazzas,  or 
strolling  slowly  up  and  down  the  pathway,  but  all  eyes 
wandered  from  time  to  time  toward  the  dim  light  at  the 
office.  All  was  dark  at  the  barracks.  All  was  hushed 
and  still  about  the  post.  The  sentry  call  for  half-past 
ten  was  still  some  minutes'  distant,  when  one  of  the 
three  seated  figures  at  the  end  of  the  office  porch  was 
seen  to  rise.  Then  the  other  two  started  to  their  feet. 
The  first  hastened  to  the  door  and  began  to  knock.  So 
breathless  was  the  night  that  over  on  the  verandas  the  im 
perative  thumping  could  be  distinctly  heard,  and  every 
one  ceased  talk  and  listened.  Then,  in  answer  to  some 
query  from  within,  the  voice  of  young  Cassidy  was  up 
lifted. 

"  I  beg  pardon,  sir,  but  that's  the  agency  calling  me, 
and  it's  hurry." 

They  saw  the  door  open  from,  within ;  saw  the  soldier 
admitted  and  the  door  closed  after  him ;  saw  the  two  men 
waiting  standing  and  expectant,  no  longer  content  to  re 
sume  their  chat.  For  three  minutes  of  suspense  there 


174  AN  APACHE  PRINCESS 

came  no  further  sound.  Then  the  door  was  again  thrown 
open,  and  both  Byrne  and  Blakely  came  hurrying  out. 
In  the  memory  of  the  earliest  inhabitant  never  had  Sandy 
seen  the  colonel  walk  so  fast.  Together  they  came  strid 
ing  straight  toward  Cutler's,  and  the  captain  arose  and 
went  to  meet  them,  foreboding  in  his  soul.  Graham  and 
Westervelt,  restrained  by  discipline,  held  back.  The 
women  and  younger  officers,  hushed  by  anxiety,  gazed  at 
the  swift-coming  pair  in  dread  and  fascination.  There 
was  a  moment  of  muttered  conference  with  the  command 
ing  officer,  some  hurried  words,  then  Blakely  was  seen 
to  spring  away,  to  be  recalled  by  Cutler,  to  start  a  second 
time,  only  to  be  again  recalled.  Then  Cutler,  shouting, 
"  Mr.  Doty,  I  need  you !  "  hurried  away  toward  the  office, 
and  Blakely,  fairly  running,  sped  straight  for  the  barracks 
of  Wren's  troop.  Only  Byrne  was  left  to  answer  the 
storm  of  question  that  burst  upon  him  all  at  once,  women 
thronging  about  him  from  all  along  the  line. 

"  We  have  news  from  the  agency,"  said  he.  "  It  is 
from  Indian  runners,  and  may  not  be  reliable — some  ru 
mor  of  a  sharp  fight  near  Sunset  Pass." 

"Are  there  particulars,  colonel — anybody  killed  or 
wounded  ?  "  It  was  Mrs.  Sanders  who  spoke,  her  face 
very  pale. 

"  We  cannot  know — as  yet.  It  is  all  an  Indian  story. 
Mr.  Blakely  is  going  at  once  to  investigate,"  was  the 
guarded  answer.  But  Mrs.  Sanders  knew,  as  well  as  a 
dozen  others,  that  there  were  particulars — that  somebody 
had  been  killed  or  wounded,  for  Indian  stories  to  that 


A  CALL  FOR  HELP  175 

effect  had  been  found  singularly  reliable.  It  was  Wren's 
troop  that  had  gone  to  Sunset  Pass,  and  here  was  Wren's 
sister  with  question  in  her  eye,  and  at  sight  of  her  the 
colonel  turned  and  hurried  back  to  headquarters,  follow 
ing  the  post  commander. 

Another  moment  and  Blakely,  in  the  broad  light  stream 
ing  suddenly  from  the  office  room  of  Wren's  troop,  came 
speeding  straight  across  the  parade  again  in  the  direction 
of  Sanders's  quarters,  next  to  the  last  at  the  southward 
end  of  the  row.  They  sought,  of  course,  to  intercept 
him,  and  saw  that  his  face  was  pale,  though  his  manner 
was  as  composed  as  ever.  To  every  question  he  had  but 
one  thing  to  say :  "  Colonel  Byrne  and  the  captain  know 
all  that  I  do — and  more.  Ask  them."  But  this  he  said 
with  obvious  wish  to  be  questioned  no  further, — said  it 
gently,  but  most  firmly, — and  then,  with  scant  apology, 
passed  on.  Five  minutes  more  and  Nixon  was  lugging 
out  the  lieutenant's  field  kit  on  the  Sanders's  porch,  and 
Blakely,  reappearing,  went  straight  up  the  row  to  Wren's. 
It  was  now  after  10.30,  but  he  never  hesitated.  Miss 
Janet,  watching  him  from  the  midst  of  her  friends,  saw 
him  stride,  unhesitatingly,  straight  to  the  door  and 
knock.  She  followed  instantly,  but,  before  she  could 
reach  the  steps,  Kate  Sanders,  with  wonder  in  her  eyes, 
stood  faltering  before  him. 

"  Will  you  say  to  Miss  Angela  that  I  have  come  as  I 
promised?  I  am  going  at  once  to — join  the  troop.  Can 
I  see  her?  "he  asked. 

"  She  isn't  well,  Mr.  Blakely.     She  hasn't  left  her  room 


176  AN  APACHE  PRINCESS 

to-day."  And  Miss  Sanders  began  herself  to  tremble, 
for  up  the  steps  came  the  resolute  lady  of  the  house,  whom 
seeing,  Mr.  Blakely  honored  with  a  civil  bow,  but  with 
not  a  word. 

"  I  will  hear  your  message,  Mr.  Blakely,"  said  Miss 
Wren,  pallid,  too,  and  filled  with  wordless  anxiety,  but 
determined  none  the  less. 

"  Miss  Sanders  has  heard  it,  madam,"  was  the  uncom 
promising  answer.  "  Will  you  see  Miss  Angela, 
please  ?  "  This  again  to  Kate — and,  without  another 
word,  she  went. 

"  Mr.  Blakely,"  began  the  lady  impressively,  "  almost 
the  last  thing  my  brother  said  to  me  before  leaving  the 
post  was  that  he  wished  no  meetings  between  you  and 
Angela.  Why  do  you  pursue  her  ?  Do  you  wish  to  com 
pel  me  to  take  her  away  ?  " 

For  a  moment  he  was  silent.  Then,  "  It  is  I  who  must 
go,  Miss  Wren,"  was  the  answer,  and  she,  who  expected 
resentment,  looked  at  him  in  surprise,  so  gentle,  so  sor 
rowing  was  his  tone.  "  I  had  hoped  to  bear  her  mes 
sage,  but  shall  intrude  no  more.  If  the  news  that  came 
to-night  should  be  confirmed — and  only  in  that  event — 
say  to  her,  if  you  please,  that  I  shall  do  my  best  to  find 
her  father." 


CHAPTER  XVI 

A   RETURN  TO  COMMAND 

WITH  but  a  single  orderly  at  his  back,  Mr. 
Blakely  had  left  Camp  Sandy  late  at  night; 
had  reached  the  agency,  twenty  miles  up 
stream,  two  hours  before  the  dawn  and  found  young 
Bridger  waiting  for  him.  They  had  not  even  a  reliable 
interpreter  now.  Arahawa,  "  Washington  Charley,"  had 
been  sent  to  the  general  at  Camp  McDowell.  Lola's 
father,  with  others  of  her  kin,  had  taken  Apache  leave 
and  gone  in  search  of  the  missing  girl.  But  between  the 
sign  language  and  the  patois  of  the  mountains,  a  strange 
mixture  of  Spanish,  English,  and  Tonto  Apache,  the  of 
ficers  had  managed,  with  the  aid  of  their  men,  to  gather 
explanation  of  the  fierce  excitement  prevailing  all  that 
previous  day  among  the  Indians  at  the  agency.  There 
had  been  another  fight,  a  chase,  a  scattering  of  both  pur 
suers  and  pursued.  Most  of  the  troops  were  at  last  ac 
counts  camping  in  the  rocks  near  Sunset  Pass.  Two  had 
been  killed,  several  were  wounded,  three  were  missing, 
lost  to  everybody.  Even  the  Apaches  swore  they  knew 
not  where  they  were — a  sergeant,  a  trumpeter,  and  "  Gran 
Capitan  "  himself — Captain  Wren. 

In  the  paling  starlight  of  the  coming  day  Blakely  and 
Bridger  plied  the  reluctant   Indians   with  questions  in 

177 


178  AN  APACHE  PRINCESS 

every  form  possible  with  their  limited  knowledge  of  the 
sign  language.  Blakely,  having  spent  so  many  years  on 
staff  duty,  had  too  little  knowledge  of  practical  service  in 
the  field.  Bridger  was  but  a  beginner  at  best.  Together 
they  had  decided  on  their  course.  A  wire  was  sent  to 
Sandy  saying  that  from  all  they  could  gather  the  rumors 
were  probably  true,  but  urging  that  couriers  be  sent  for 
Dick,  the  Cherry  Creek  settler,  and  Wales  Arnold,  an 
other  pioneer  who  had  lived  long  in  Apache  land  and 
owned  a  ranch  on  the  little  Beaver.  They  could  get  more 
out  of  the  Indians  than  could  these  soldiers.  It  would  be 
hours  after  dawn  before  either  Dick  or  his  fellow  fron 
tiersman  could  arrive.  Meanwhile  Sandy  must  bear  the 
suspense  as  well  as  it  might.  The  next  wire  came  from 
Bridger  at  nine  o'clock : 

Arnold  arrived  hour  ago.  Examined  six.  Says  stories  prob 
ably  true.  Confident  Wren  not  killed. 

For  answer  Byrne  wired  that  a  detachment  of  a  dozen 
men  with  three  packers  had  marched  at  five  o'clock  to  re 
port  to  Blakely  for  such  duty  as  he  might  require,  and 
the  answer  came  within  the  minute : 

Blakely  gone.  Started  for  Snow  Lake  4.30.  Left  orders  de 
tachment  follow.  Took  orderly  and  two  Apache  Yuma  scouts. 

Byrne,  Cutler,  and  Graham  read  with  grave  and  anx 
ious  faces,  but  said  very  little.  It  was  Blakely's  way. 

And  that  was  the  last  heard  of  the  Bugologist  for  as 
much  as  a  week. 

Meantime  there  was  a  painful  situation  at  Fort  Whip- 


A  RETURN  TO  COMMAND  179 

pie,  away  up  in  "  the  hills."  Major  Plume,  eager  on  his 
wife's  account  to  get  her  to  the  seashore — "  Monterey  or 
Santa  Barbara,"  said  the  sapient  medical  director — and 
ceaselessly  importuned  by  her  and  viciously  nagged  by 
Elise,  found  himself  bound  to  the  spot.  So  long  as  Mul- 
lins  stuck  to  his  story  Plume  knew  it  would  never  do  for 
him  to  leave.  "A  day  or  two  more  and  he  may  abate  or 
amend  his  statement,"  wrote  Graham.  Indeed,  if  Norah 
Shaughnessy  were  not  there  to  prompt — to  prop — his 
memory,  Graham  thought  it  like  enough  that  even  now 
the  soldier  would  have  wavered.  But  never  a  jot  or  tittle 
had  Mullins  been  shaken  from  the  original  statement. 

"  There  was  two  women,"  he  said,  "  wid  their  shawls 
over  their  heads,"  and  those  two,  refusing  to  halt  at  his 
demand,  had  been  overtaken  and  one  of  them  seized,  to 
his  bitter  cost,  for  the  other  had  driven  a  keen-bladed 
knife  through  his  ribs,  even  as  he  sought  to  examine  his; 
captive.  "  They  wouldn't  spake,"  said  he,  "  so  what 
could  I  do  but  pull  the  shawl  from  the  face  of  her  to  see 
could  she  be  recognized  ?  "  Then  came  the  fierce,  cat 
like  spring  of  the  taller  of  the  two.  Then  the  well-nigh 
fatal  thrust.  What  afterwards  became  of  the  women  he 
could  say  no  more  than  the  dead.  Norah  might  rave 
about  its  being  the  Frenchwoman  that  did  it  to  protect 
the  major's  lady — this  he  spoke  in  whispered  confidence 
and  only  in  reply  to  direct  question — but  it  wouldn't  be 
for  the  likes  of  him  to  preshume.  Mullins,  it  seems,  was 
a  soldier  of  the  old  school. 

Then  came  fresh  and  dire  anxiety  at  Sandy.     Four 


180  AN  APACHE  PRINCESS 

days  after  Blakely's  start  there  appeared  two  swarthy  run 
ners  from  the  way  of  Beaver  Creek.  They  bore  a  mis 
sive  scrawled  on  the  paper  lining  of  a  cracker  box,  and 
it  read  about  as  follows : 

CAMP  IN  SUNSET  PASS,  November  3d. 
COMMANDING  OFFICER,  CAMP  SANDY  : 

Scouting  parties  returning  find  no  trace  of  Captain  Wren  and 
Sergeant  Carmody,  but  we  shall  persevere.  Indians  lurking  all 
about  us  make  it  difficult.  Shall  be  needing  rations  in  four 
days.  All  wounded  except  Flynn  doing  fairly  well.  Hope 
couriers  sent  you  on  soth  and  3ist  reached  you  safely. 

The  dispatch  was  in  the  handwriting  of  Benson,  a 
trooper  of  good  education,  often  detailed  for  clerical 
work.  It  was  signed  "  Brewster,  Sergeant." 

Who  then  were  the  couriers,  and  what  had  become  of 
them  ?  What  fate  had  attended  Blakely  in  his  lonely  and 
perilous  ride?  What  man  or  pair  of  men  could  pierce 
that  cordon  of  Indians  lurking  all  around  them  and  reach 
the  beleaguered  command?  What  need  to  speculate  on 
the  fate  of  the  earlier  couriers  anyway?  Only  Indians 
could  hope  to  outwit  Indians  in  such  a  case.  It  was 
madness  to  expect  white  men  to  get  through.  It  was 
madness  for  Blakely  to  attempt  it.  Yet  Blakely  was 
gone  beyond  recall,  perhaps  beyond  redemption.  From 
him,  and  from  the  detachment  that  was  sent  by  Bridger 
to  follow  his  trail,  not  a  word  had  come  of  any  kind. 
Asked  if  they  had  seen  or  heard  anything  of  such  parties, 
the  Indian  couriers  stolidly  shook  their  heads.  They  had 
followed  the  old  Wingate  road  all  the  way  until  in  sight 
of  the  valley.  Then,  scrambling  through  a  rocky  laby- 


A  RETURN  TO  COMMAND  181 

rinth,  impossible  for  hoof  or  wheel,  had  made  a  short  cut 
to  the  head  waters  of  the  Beaver.  Now  Blakely,  riding 
from  the  agency  eastward  slowly,  should  have  found  that 
Wingate  trail  before  the  setting  of  the  first  day's  sun,  and 
his  followers  could  not  have  been  far  behind.  It  began 
to  look  as  though  the  Bugologist  had  never  reached  the 
road.  It  began  to  be  whispered  about  the  post  that  Wren 
and  his  luckless  companions  might  never  be  found  at  all. 
Kate  Sanders  had  ceased  her  song.  She  was  now  with 
Angela  day  and  night. 

One  hope,  a  vague  one,  remained  beside  that  of  hearing 
from  the  baker's  dozen  that  rode  on  Blakely's  trail.  Just 
as  soon  as  Byrne  received  the  Indian  story  concerning 
Wren's  disappearance,  he  sent  runners  eastward  on  the 
track  of  Sanders's  troop,  with  written  advice  to  that  of 
ficer  to  drop  anything  he  might  be  doing  along  the  Black 
Mesa  and,  turning  northward,  to  make  his  way  through 
a  country  hitherto  untrod  by  white  man,  between  Baker's 
Butte  at  the  south  and  the  Sunset  Mountains  at  the  north. 
He  was  ordered  to  scout  the  canon  of  Chevlon's  Fork, 
and  to  look  for  sign  on  every  side  until,  somewhere  among 
the  "  tanks  "  in  the  solid  rock  about  the  mountain  gate 
way  known  as  Sunset  Pass,  he  should  join  hands  with  the 
survivors  of  Webb's  troop,  nursing  their  wounded  and 
guarding  the  new-made  graves  of  their  dead.  Under 
such  energetic  supervision  as  that  of  Captain  Sanders  it 
was  believed  that  even  Apache  Yuma  scouts  could  be 
made  to  accomplish  something,  and  that  new  heart  would 
be  given  Wren's  dispirited  men.  By  this  time,  too,  if 


182  AN  APACHE  PRINCESS 

Blakely  had  not  fallen  into  the  hands  of  the  Apaches,  he 
should  have  been  joined  by  the  intended  escort,  and,  thus 
strengthened,  could  either  push  on  to  the  pass,  or,  if  sur 
rounded,  take  up  some  strong  position  among  the  rocks 
and  stand  off  his  assailants  until  found  by  his  fellow-sol 
diers  under  Sanders.  Moreover,  Byrne  had  caused  re 
port  of  the  situation  to  be  sent  to  the  general  via  Camp 
McDowell,  and  felt  sure  he  would  lose  no  time  in  direct 
ing  the  scouting  columns  to  head  for  the  Sunset  country. 
Scattered  as  were  the  hostile  Apaches,  it  was  apparent 
that  they  were  in  greater  force  northward,  opposite  the 
old  reservation,  than  along  the  Mogollon  Range  southeast 
of  it.  There  was  hope,  activity,  animation,  among  the 
little  camps  and  garrisons  toward  the  broad  valley  of  the 
Gila  as  the  early  days  of  November  wore  away.  Only 
here  at  Sandy  was  there  suspense  as  well  as  deep  despond. 
It  was  a  starlit  Sunday  morning  that  Blakely  rode 
away  eastward  from  the  agency.  It  was  Wednesday 
night  when  Sergeant  Brewster's  runners  came,  and  never 
a  wink  of  sleep  had  they  or  their  inquisitors  until  Thurs 
day  was  ushered  in.  It  was  Saturday  night  again,  a 
week  from  the  night  Neil  Blakely  strove  to  see  and  say 
good-by  to  Angela  Wren.  It  was  high  time  other  run 
ners  came  from  Brewster,  unless  they,  too,  had  been  cut 
off,  as  must  have  been  the  fate  of  their  forerunners.  All 
drills  had  been  suspended  at  Sandy;  all  duty  subordi 
nated  to  guard.  Cutler  had  practically  abolished  the 
daily  details,  had  doubled  his  sentries,  had  established  out 
lying  pickets,  and  was  even  bent  on  throwing  up  intrench- 


A  RETURN  TO  COMMAND  183 

ments  or  at  least  digging  rifle  pits,  lest  the  Apaches  should 
feel  so  "  cocky  "  over  their  temporary  successes  as  to 
essay  an  attack  on  the  post.  Byrne  smiled  and  said  they 
would  hardly  try  that,  but  he  approved  the  pickets.  It 
was  noted  that  for  nearly  a  week, — not  since  Blakely's 
start  from  the  agency, — no  signal  fires  had  been  seen  in 
the  Red  Rock  country  or  about  the  reservation.  Mr. 
Truman,  acting  as  post  quartermaster,  had  asked  for  ad 
ditional  men  to  protect  his  little  herd,  for  the  sergeant  in 
charge  declared  that,  twice,  long-distance  shots  had  come 
from  far  away  up  the  bouldered  heights  to  the  west.  The 
daily  mail  service  had  been  abandoned,  so  nervous  had 
the  carrier  become,  and  now,  twice  each  week,  a  corporal 
and  two  men  rode  the  rugged  trail,  thus  far  without  see 
ing  a  sign  of  Apaches.  The  wire,  too,  was  undisturbed, 
but  an  atmosphere  of  alarm  and  dread  clung  about  the 
scattered  ranches  even  as  far  as  the  Agua  Fria  to  the 
west,  and  the  few  officials  left  at  Prescott  found  it  impos 
sible  to  reassure  the  settlers,  who,  quitting  their  new 
homes,  had  either  clustered  about  some  favored  ranch  for 
general  defense  or,  "  packing "  to  Fort  Whipple,  were 
clamoring  there  for  protection  with  which  to  return  to  and 
occupy  their  abandoned  roofs. 

And  all  this,  said  Byrne,  between  his  set  teeth,  because 
a  bumptious  agent  sought  to  lay  forceful  hands  upon  the 
daughter  of  a  chief.  Poor  Daly!  He  had  paid  dearly 
for  that  essay.  As  for  Natzie,  and  her  shadow  Lola, 
neither  one  had  been  again  seen.  They  might  indeed 
have  dropped  tack  from  Montezuma  Well  after  the  first 


184  AN  APACHE  PRINCESS 

wild  stampede,  but  only  fruitless  search  had  the  soldiers 
made  for  them.  Even  their  own  people,  said  Bridger,  at 
the  agency,  were  either  the  biggest  liars  that  ever  lived 
or  the  poorest  trailers.  The  Apaches  swore  the  girls 
could  not  be  found.  "  I'll  bet  Sergeant  Shannon  could 
nail  them,"  said  Hart,  the  trader,  when  told  of  the  general 
denial  among  the  Indians.  But  Shannon  was  far  away 
from  the  field  column,  leading  his  moccasined  comrades 
afoot  and  in  single  file  long,  wearisome  climbs  up  jagged 
cliffs  or  through  deep  canons,  where  unquestionably  the 
foe  had  been  in  numbers  but  the  day  before,  yet  now  they 
were  gone.  Shannon  might  well  be  needed  at  the  far 
front,  now  that  most  of  the  Apache  scouts  had  proved 
timid  or  worthless,  but  Byrne  wished  he  had  him  closer 
home. 

It  was  the  Saturday  night  following  the  coming  of  the 
runners  with  confirmation  of  the  grewsome  Indian  stories. 
Colonel  Byrne,  with  Graham,  Cutler,  and  Westervelt,  had 
been  at  the  office  half  an  hour  in  consultation  when,  to 
the  surprise  of  every  soul  at  Sandy,  a  four-mule  team  and 
Concord  wagon  came  bowling  briskly  into  the  post,  and 
Major  Plume,  dust-covered  and  grave,  marched  into  the 
midst  of  the  conference  and  briefly  said :  "  Gentlemen,  I 
return  to  resume  command." 

Nobody  had  a  word  to  say  beyond  that  of  welcome.  It 
was  manifestly  the  proper  thing  for  him  to  do.  Unable, 
in  face  of  the  stories  afloat,  to  take  his  wife  away,  his 
proper  place  in  the  pressing  emergency  was  at  his  post  in 
command, 


A  RETURN  TO  COMMAND  185 

To  Colonel  Byrne,  who  guardedly  and  somewhat 
dubiously  asked,  "  How  about  Mrs.  Plume  and  that — 
French  thing?  "  the  major's  answer  was  prompt: 

"  Both  at  Fort  Whipple  and  in — good  hands,"  said  he. 
"  My  wife  realizes  that  my  duty  is  here,  and,  though  her 
recovery  may  be  retarded,  she  declares  she  will  remain 
there  or  even  join  me.  She,  in  fact,  was  so  insistent  that 
I  should  bring  her  back  with  me  that  it  embarrassed  me 
somewhat.  I  vetoed  it,  however." 

Byrne  gazed  at  him  from  under  his  shaggy  eyebrows. 
"  H'm,"  said  he,  "  I  fancied  she  had  shaken  the  dust  of 
Sandy  from  her  shoes  for  good  and  all — that  she  hoped 
never  to  come  back." 

"  I,  too,"  answered  Plume  ingenuously.  "  She  hated 
the  very  mention  of  it, — this  is  between  ourselves, — until 
this  week.  Now  she  says  her  place  is  here  with  me,  no 
matter  how  she  may  suffer,"  and  the  major  seemed  to 
dwell  with  pride  on  this  new  evidence  of  his  wife's  devo 
tion.  It  was,  indeed,  an  unusual  symptom,  and  Byrne 
had  to  try  hard  to  look  credulous,  which  Plume  appre 
ciated  and  hurried  on: 

"  Elise,  of  course,  seemed  bent  on  talking  her  out  of  it, 
but,  with  Wren  and  Blakely  both  missing,  I  could  not 
hesitate.  I  had  to  come.  Oh,  captain,  is  Truman  still 
acting  quartermaster?"  this  to  Cutler.  "He  has  the 
keys  of  my  house,  I  suppose." 

And  so  by  tattoo  the  major  was  once  more  harbored 
under  his  old  roof  and  full  of  business.  From  Byrne  and 
his  associates  he  quickly  gathered  all  particulars  in  their 


186  AN  APACHE  PRINCESS 

possession.  He  agreed  with  them  that  another  day  must 
bring  tidings  from  the  east  or  prove  that  the  Apaches  had 
surrounded  and  perhaps  cut  down  every  man  of  the  com 
mand.  He  listened  eagerly  to  the  details  Byrne  and 
others  were  able  to  give  him.  He  believed,  by  the  time 
"  taps  "  came,  he  had  already  settled  on  a  plan  for  another 
relief  column,  and  he  sent  for  Truman,  the  quarter 
master. 

"  Truman,"  said  he,  "  how  much  of  a  pack  train  have 
you  got  left?" 

"  Hardly  a  mule,  sir.  Two  expeditions  out  from  this 
post  swallows  up  pretty  much  everything." 

"  Very  true ;  yet  I  may  have  to  find  a  dozen  packs  be 
fore  we  get  half  through  this  business.  The  ammunition 
is  in  your  hands,  too,  isn't  it  ?  Where  do  you  keep  it  ?  " 
and  the  major  turned  and  gazed  out  in  the  starlight. 

"  Only  place  I  got,  sir — quartermaster's  storehouse," 
and  Truman  eyed  his  commander  doubtfully. 

"  Well,  I'm  squeamish  about  such  things  as  that,"  said 
the  major,  looking  even  graver,  "  especially  since  this  fire 
here.  By  the  way,  was  much  of  Blakely's  property — er 
— rescued — or  recovered  ?  " 

"  Very  little,  sir.  Blakely  lost  pretty  much  everything, 
except  some  papers  in  an  iron  box — the  box  that  was 
warped  all  out  of  shape." 

"  Where  is  it  now  ?  "  asked  Plume,  tugging  at  the  strap 
of  a  dressing  case  and  laying  it  open  on  the  broad  win 
dow-seat. 

"  In  my  quarters,  under  my  bed,  sir," 


A  RETURN  TO  COMMAND  187 

"Isn't  that  rather— unsafe?"  asked  Plume.  "Think 
how  quick  he  was  burned  out." 

"  Best  I  can  do,  sir.  But  he  said  it  contained  little  of 
value,  mainly  letters  and  memoranda.  No  valuables  at 
all,  in  fact.  The  lock  wouldn't  work,  so  the  blacksmith 
strap-ironed  it  for  him.  That  prevents  it  being  opened 
by  anyone,  you  know,  who  hasn't  the  proper  tools." 

"  I  see,"  said  Plume  reflectively.  "  It  seems  rather 
unusual  to  take  such  precaution  with  things  of  no  value. 
I  suppose  Blakely  knows  his  own  business,  however. 
Thank  you  very  much  Truman.  Good-night." 

"  I  suppose  he  did,  at  least,  when  he  had  the  black 
smith  iron  that  box,"  thought  Truman,  as  he  trudged 
away.  "  He  did,  at  any  rate,  when  he  made  me  promise 
to  keep  it  with  the  utmost  care.  Not  even  you  can  have 
it,  Major  Plume,  although  you  are  the  post  commander." 


CHAPTER  XVII 

A    STRANGE    COMING 

WITH  one  orderly  and  a  pair  of  Apache  Yuma 
scouts,  Neil  Blakely  had  set  forth  in  hopes  of 
making  his  way  to  Snow  Lake,  far  up  in  the 
range  to  the  east.  The  orderly  was  all  very  well, — like 
most  of  his  fellows,  game,  true,  and  tried,— but  few  were 
the  leaders  who  had  any  faith  in  Apache  Yumas.  Of 
those  Indians  whom  General  Crook  had  successively  con 
quered,  then  turned  to  valuable  use,  the  Hualpais  had 
done  well  and  proved  reliable;  the  Apache  Mohaves  had 
served  since  '73,  and  in  scout  after  scout  and  many  a 
skirmish  had  proved  loyal  and  worthy  allies  against  the 
fierce,  intractable  Tontos,  many  of  whom  had  never  yet 
come  in  to  an  agency  or  accepted  the  bounty  of  the  gov 
ernment.  Even  a  certain  few  of  these  Tontos  had  prof 
fered  fealty  and  been  made  useful  as  runners  and  trailers 
against  the  recalcitrants  of  their  own  band.  But  the 
Apache  Yumas,  their  mountain  blood  tainted  by  the  cross 
with  the  slothful  bands  of  the  arid,  desert  flats  of  the 
lower  Colorado,  had  won  a  bad  name  from  the  start,  and 
deserved  it.  They  feared  the  Tontos,  who  had  thrashed 
them  again  and  again,  despoiled  them  of  their  plunder, 
walked  away  with  their  young  women,  insulted  and 
jeered  at  their  young  men.  Except  when  backed  by  the 

188 


A  STRANGE  COMING  189 

braves  of  other  bands,  therefore,  the  Apache  Yumas  were 
fearful  and  timorous  on  the  trail.  Once  they  had  broken 
and  run  before  a  mere  handful  of  Tontos,  leaving  a 
wounded  officer  to  his  fate.  Once,  when  scaling  the 
Black  Mesa  toward  this  very  Snow  Lake,  they  had 
whimpered  and  begged  to  be  sent  home,  declaring  no 
enemy  was  there  in  hiding,  when  the  peaks  were  found 
alive  with  Tontos.  The  Red  Rock  country  and  the  north 
ward  spurs  of  the  Mogollon  seemed  fraught  with  some 
strange,  superstitious  terror  in  their  eyes,  and  if  the 
"  nerve "  of  a  dozen  would  desert  them  when  ordered 
east  of  the  Verde,  what  could  be  expected  of  Blakely's 
two?  No  wonder,  then,  the  elders  at  Sandy  were  sorely 
troubled ! 

But  the  Bugologist  had  nothing  else  to  choose  from. 
All  the  reliable,  seasoned  scouts  were  already  gone  with 
the  various  field  columns.  Only  Apache  Yumas  re 
mained,  and  only  the  least  promising  of  the  Apache  Yu 
mas  at  that.  Bridger  remembered  how  reluctantly  these 
two  had  obeyed  the  summons  to  go.  "  If  they  don't 
sneak  away  and  come  back  swearing  they  have  lost  the 
lieutenant,  I'm  a  gopher,"  said  he,  and  gave  orders  ac 
cordingly  to  have  them  hauled  before  him  should  they 
reappear.  Confidently  he  looked  to  see  or  hear  of  them 
as  again  lurking  about  the  commissary  storehouse  after 
the  manner  of  their  people,  beggars  to  the  backbone. 
But  the  week  went  by  without  a  sign  of  them.  "  There's 
only  one  thing  to  explain  that,"  said  he.  "  They've  either 
deserted  to  the  enemy  or  been  cut  off  and  killed."  What, 


190  AN  APACHE  PRINCESS 

then,  had  become  of  Blakely?  What  fate  had  befallen 
Wren? 

By  this  time,  late  Saturday  night,  acting  for  the  de 
partment  commander  now  lost  somewhere  in  the  moun 
tains,  Byrne  had  re-enforced  the  guards  at  the  agency  and 
the  garrison  at  Sandy  with  infantry  drawn  from  Fort 
Whipple  at  Prescott,  for  thither  the  Apaches  would  never 
venture.  The  untrammeled  and  sovereign  citizen  had  his 
own  way  of  treating  the  obnoxious  native  to  the  soil. 

By  this  time,  too,  further  word  should  have  come  from 
some  of  the  field  columns,  Sanders's  especially.  But 
though  runners  had  reached  the  post  bearing  brief  dis 
patches  from  the  general,  showing  that  he  and  the  troops 
from  the  more  southerly  posts  were  closing  in  on  the  wild 
haunts  of  the  Tontos  about  Chevlon's  Fork,  not  a  sign 
had  come  from  this  energetic  troop  commander,  not  an 
other  line  from  Sergeant  Brewster  or  his  men,  and  there 
were  women  at  Camp  Sandy  now  nearly  mad  with  sleep 
less  dread  and  watching.  "  It  means,"  said  Byrne,  "  that  the 
hostiles  are  between  us  and  those  commands.  It  means 
that  couriers  can't  get  through,  that's  all.  I'm  betting 
the  commands  are  safe  enough.  They  are  too  strong  to 
be  attacked."  But  Byrne  was  silent  as  to  Blakely;  he 
was  dumb  as  to  Wren.  He  was  growing  haggard  with 
anxiety  and  care  and  inability  to  assure  or  comfort. 
The  belated  rations  needed  by  Brewster's  party,  packed 
on  mules  hurried  down  from  Prescott,  were  to  start  at 
dawn  for  Sunset  Pass  under  stout  infantry  guard,  and 
they,  too,  would  probably  be  swallowed  up  in  the  moun- 


A  STRANGE  COMING  191 

tains.  The  ranch  people  down  the  valley,  fearful  of  raid 
ing  Apaches,  had  abandoned  their  homes,  and,  driving 
their  stock  before  them,  had  taken  refuge  in  the  emptied 
corrals  of  the  cavalry.  Even  Hart,  the  veteran  trader, 
seemed  losing  his  nerve  under  the  strain,  for  when  such 
intrepid  frontiersmen  as  Wales  Arnold  declared  it  reck 
less  to  venture  across  the  Sandy,  and  little  scouting  par 
ties  were  greeted  with  long-range  shots  from  hidden  foe, 
it  boded  ill  for  all  dwellers  without  the  walls  of  the  fort. 
For  the  first  time  in  the  annals  of  Camp  Sandy,  Hart  had 
sandbagged  his  lower  story,  and  he  and  his  retainers 
practically  slept  upon  their  arms. 

It  was  after  midnight.  Lights  still  burned  dimly  at  the 
guard-house,  the  adjutant's  office,  and  over  at  the  quar 
ters  of  the  commanding  officer,  where  Byrne  and  Plume 
were  in  consultation.  There  were  sleepless  eyes  in  every 
house  along  the  line.  Truman  had  not  turned  in  at  all. 
Pondering  over  his  brief  talk  with  the  returned  com 
mander,  he  had  gone  to  the  storehouse  to  expedite  the 
packing  of  Brewster's  rations,  and  then  it  occurred  to 
him  to  drop  in  a  moment  at  the  hospital.  In  all  the  dread 
and  excitement  of  the  past  two  days,  Pat  Mullins  had 
been  well-nigh  forgotten.  The  attendant  greeted  him 
at  the  entrance.  Truman,  as  he  approached,  could  see 
him  standing  at  the  broad  open  doorway,  apparently  star 
ing  out  through  the  starlight  toward  the  black  and  dis 
tant  outlines  of  the  eastward  mountains.  Mullins  at 
least  was  sleeping  and  seemed  rapidly  recovering,  said  he, 
in  answer  to  Truman's  muttered  query.  "  Major  Plume," 


192  AN  APACHE  PRINCESS 

he  added,  "  was  over  to  see  him  a  while  ago,  but  I  told 
the  major  Pat  was  asleep."  Truman  listened  without 
comment,  but  noted  none  the  less  and  lingered.  "  You 
were  looking  out  to  the  east,"  he  said.  "  Seen  any  lights 
or  fire?" 

tl  Not  I,  sir.  But  the  sentry  there  on  No.  4  had  the 
corporal  out  just  now.  He's  seen  or  heard  something, 
and  they've  moved  over  toward  No.  5's  post." 

Truman  followed.  How  happened  it  that  when  Byrne 
and  Plume  had  so  much  to  talk  of  the  latter  could  find 
time  to  come  away  over  to  the  hospital  to  inquire  for  a 
patient?  And  there!  the  call  for  half-past  twelve  had 
started  at  the  guard-house  and  rung  out  from  the  stables 
and  corrals.  It  was  Four's  turn  to  take  it  up  now. 
Presently  he  did,  but  neither  promptly  nor  with  confi 
dence.  There  were  new  men  on  the  relief  just  down 
from  Fort  Whipple  and  strange  to  Sandy  and  its  sur 
roundings  ;  but  surely,  said  Truman,  they  should  not  have 
been  assigned  to  Four  and  Five,  the  exposed  or  danger 
ous  posts,  so  long  as  there  were  other  men,  old-timers  at 
Sandy,  to  take  these  stations.  No.  4's  "  A-all's  well" 
sounded  more  like  a  wail  of  remonstrance  at  his  loneliness 
and  isolation.  It  was  a  new  voice,  too,  for  in  those  days 
officers  knew  not  only  the  face,  but  the  voice,  of  every  man 
in  the  little  command,  and — could  Truman  be  mistaken — 
he  thought  he  heard  a  subdued  titter  from  the  black 
shadows  of  his  own  quarters,  and  turned  his  course 
thither  to  investigate.  Five's  shout  went  up  at  the  in 
stant,  loud,  confident,  almost  boastful,  as  though  in  re- 


A  STRANGE  COMING  193 

buke  of  Four's  timidity,  and,  as  Truman  half  expected, 
there  was  the  corporal  of  the  guard  leaning  on  his  rifle, 
close  to  the  veranda  steps,  and  so  absorbed  he  never  heard 
the  officer  approach  until  the  lieutenant  sharply  hailed : 

"  Who's  that  on  No.  4?" 

"  One  of  '  C '  Company's  fellers,  sir,"  answered  the 
watcher,  coming  to  his  senses  and  attention  at  the  instant. 
"  Just  down  from  Prescott,  and  thinks  he  sees  ghosts  or 
Indians  every  minute.  Nearly  shot  one  of  the  hounds  a 
moment  ago." 

"  You  shouldn't  put  him  on  that  post " 

"  I  didn't  sir,"  was  the  prompt  rejoinder.  "  'Twas  the 
sergeant.  He  said  'twould  do  him  good,  but  the  man's 
really  scared,  lieutenant.  Thought  I'd  better  stay  near 
him  a  bit." 

Across  the  black  and  desolate  ruin  of  Blakely's  quar 
ters,  and  well  out  on  the  northward  mesa,  they  could 
dimly  discern  the  form  of  the  unhappy  sentry  pacing  un 
easily  along  his  lonely  beat,  pausing  and  turning  every 
moment  as  though  fearful  of  crouching  assailant.  Even 
among  these  veteran  infantrymen  left  at  Sandy,  that  north 
east  corner  had  had  an  uncanny  name  ever  since  the  night 
of  Pat  Mullins's  mysterious  stabbing.  Many  a  man 
would  gladly  have  shunned  sentry  duty  at  that  point, 
but  none  dare  confess  to  it.  Partly  as  a  precaution,  partly 
as  protection  to  his  sentries,  the  temporary  commander 
had  early  in  the  week  sent  out  a  big  "  fatigue  "  detail, 
with  knives  and  hatchets  to  slice  away  every  clump  of 
sage  or  greasewood  that  could  shelter  a  prowling  Apache 


194  AN  APACHE  PRINCESS 

for  a  hundred  yards  out  from  the  line.  But  the  man  now 
on  No.  4  was  palpably  nervous  and  distressed,  in  spite  of 
this  fact.  Truman  watched  him  a  moment  in  mingled 
compassion  and  amusement,  and  was  just  turning  aside 
to  enter  his  open  doorway  when  the  corporal  held  up  a 
warning  hand. 

Through  the  muffling  sand  of  the  roadway  in  rear  of 
the  quarters,  a  tall,  dark  figure  was  moving  straight  and 
swift  toward  the  post  of  No.  4,  and  so  far  within  that  of 
No.  5  as  to  escape  the  latter's  challenge.  The  corporal 
sprung  his  rifle  to  the  hollow  of  his  arm  and  started  the 
next  instant,  sped  noiselessly  a  few  yards  in  pursuit,  then 
abruptly  halted.  "  It's  the  major,  sir,"  said  he,  embar 
rassed,  as  Truman  joined  him  again.  "  Gad,  I  hope  No. 
4  won't  fire !  " 

Fire  he  did  not,  but  his  challenge  came  with  a  yell. 
"  W-whocomesthere  ?  " — three  words  as  one  and  that 
through  chattering  teeth. 

"  Commanding  officer,"  they  heard  Plume  clearly  an 
swer,  then  in  lower  tone,  but  distinctly  rebukeful. 
"  What  on  earth's  the  matter,  No.  4?  You  called  off  very 
badly.  Anything  disturbing  you  out  here  ?  " 

The  sentry's  answer  was  a  mumble  of  mingled  confu 
sion  and  distress.  How  could  he  own  to  his  post  com 
mander  that  he  was  scared?  No.  5  now  was  to  be  seen 
swiftly  coming  up  the  eastward  front  so  as  to  be  within 
supporting  or  hearing  distance — curiosity,  not  sympathy, 
impelling ;  and  so  there  were  no  less  than  five  men,  four  of 
them  old  and  tried  soldiers,  all  within  fifty  yards  of  the 


A  STRANGE  COMING  195 

angle  made  by  the  two  sentry  beats,  all  wide  awake,  yet 
not  one  of  their  number  could  later  tell  just  what  started 
it.  All  on  a  sudden,  down  in  Sudsville,  down  among  the 
southward  quarters  of  the  line,  the  hounds  went  rushing 
forth,  barking  and  baying  excitedly,  one  and  all  heading 
for  the  brink  of  the  eastward  mesa,  yet  halting  short  as 
though  afraid  to  approach  it  nearer,  and  then,  darting  up 
and  down,  barking,  sniffing,  challenging  angrily,  they 
kept  up  their  fierce  alarm.  Somebody  or  something  was 
out  there  in  the  darkness,  perhaps  at  the  very  edge  of  the 
bluff,  and  the  dogs  dare  go  no  further.  Even  when  the 
corporal,  followed  by  No.  5,  came  running  down  the  post, 
the  hounds  hung  back,  bristling  and  savage,  yet  fearful. 
Corporal  Foote  cocked  his  rifle  and  went  crouching  for 
ward  through  the  gloom,  but  the  voice  of  the  major  was 
heard : 

"  Don't  go  out  there,  corporal.  Call  for  the  guard," 
as  he  hurried  in  to  his  quarters  in  search  of  his  revolver. 
Truman  by  this  time  had  run  for  his  own  arms  and  to 
gether  they  reappeared  on  the  post  of  No.  5,  as  a  ser 
geant,  with  half  a  doze,n  men,  came  panting  from  across 
the  parade,  swift  running  to  the  scene. 

"  No.  4  would  have  it  that  there  were  Indians,  or  some 
body  skulking  about  him  when  I  was  examining  him  a 
moment  ago,"  said  Plume  hurriedly.  "  Shut  up,  you 
brutes ! "  he  yelled  angrily  at  the  nearest  hounds. 
"  Scatter  your  men  forward  there,  sergeant,  and  see  if 
we  can  find  anything."  Other  men  were  coming,  too,  by 
this  time,  and  a  lantern  was  dancing  out  from  Doty's  quar- 


196  AN  APACHE  PRINCESS 

ters.  Byrne,  pyjama-clad  and  in  slippered  feet,  shuffled 
out  to  join  the  party  as  the  guard,  with  rifles  at  ready, 
bored  their  way  out  to  the  front,  the  dogs  still  suspiciously 
sniffing  and  growling.  For  a  moment  or  two  no  expla 
nation  offered.  The  noise  was  gradually  quieting  down. 
Then  from  far  out  to  the  right  front  rose  the  shout: 
"  Come  here  with  that  lantern !  "  and  all  hands  started  at 
the  sound. 

Old  Shaughnessy,  saddler  sergeant,  was  the  first  on  the 
spot  with  a  light.  All  Sudsville  seemed  up  and  astir. 
Some  of  the  women,  even,  had  begun  to  show  at  the  nar 
row  doorways.  Corporal  Foote  and  two  of  the  guard 
were  bending  over  some  object  huddled  in  the  sand.  To 
gether  they  turned  it  over  and  tugged  it  into  semblance 
of  human  shape,  for  the  thing  had  been  shrouded  in  what 
proved  to  be  a  ragged  cavalry  blanket.  Senseless,  yet 
feebly  breathing  and  moaning,  half-clad  in  tattered  skirt 
and  a  coarsely  made  tamisa  such  as  was  worn  by  peon 
women  of  the  humblest  class,  with  blood-stained  ban 
dages  concealing  much  of  the  face  and  head,  a  young  In 
dian  woman  was  lifted  toward  the  light.  A  soldier 
started  on  the  run  for  Dr.  Graham ;  another  to  the  laun 
dresses'  homes  for  water.  Others,  still,  with  the  lanterns 
now  coming  flitting  down  the  low  bluff,  began  searching 
through  the  sands  for  further  sign,  and  found  it  within 
the  minute — sign  of  a  shod  horse  and  of  moccasined 
feet, — moccasins  not  of  Tonto,  but  of  Yuma  make,  said 
Byrne,  after  a  moment's  survey. 

Rough,  yet  tender,  hands  bore  the  poor  creature  to  the 


A  STRANGE  COMING  197 

nearest  shelter — Shaughnessy's  quarters.  Keen,  eager 
eyes  and  bending  forms  followed  hoof  and  foot  prints  to 
the  ford.  Two  Indians,  evidently,  had  lately  issued, 
dripping,  from  the  stream;  one  leading  an  eager  horse, 
for  it  had  been  dancing  sidewise  as  they  neared  the  post, 
the  other,  probably  sustaining  the  helpless  burden  on  its 
back.  Two  Indians  had  then  re-entered  the  swift  waters, 
almost  at  the  point  of  emergence,  one  leading  a  reluctant, 
resisting  animal,  for  it  had  struggled  and  plunged  and  set 
its  fore  feet  against  the  effort.  The  other  Indian  had 
probably  mounted  as  they  neared  the  brink.  Already 
they  must  be  a  good  distance  away  on  the  other  side,  ren 
dering  pursuit  probably  useless.  Already  the  explana 
tion  of  their  coming  was  apparent.  The  woman  had  been 
hurt  or  wounded  when  far  from  her  tribe,  and  the  In 
dians  with  her  were  those  who  had  learned  the  white 
man's  ways,  knew  that  he  warred  not  on  women  and 
would  give  this  stricken  creature  care  and  comfort,  food 
and  raiment  and  relieve  them  of  all  such  trouble.  It  was 
easy  to  account  for  their  bringing  her  to  Sandy  and  drop 
ping  her  at  the  white  man's  door,  but  how  came  they  by 
a  shod  horse  that  knew  the  spot  and  strove  to  break  from 
them  at  the  stables — strove  hard  against  again  being 
driven  away?  Mrs.  Shaughnessy,  volubly  haranguing 
all  within  hearing  as  the  searchers  returned  from  the  ford, 
was  telling  how  she  was  lying  awake,  worrin'  about 
Norah  and  Pat  Mullins  and  the  boys  that  had  gone  afield 
(owing  her  six  weeks'  wash)  when  she  heard  a  dull 
trampin'  like  and  what  sounded  like  horses'  stifled  squeal 


198  AN  APACHE  PRINCESS 

(doubtless  the  leading  Indian  had  gripped  the  nostrils 
to  prevent  the  eager  neigh),  and  then,  said  she,  all  the 
dogs  roused  up  and  rushed  out,  howling. 

And  then  came  a  cry  from  within  the  humble  doorway, 
where  merciful  hands  were  ministering  to  the  suffering 
savage,  and  Plume  started  at  the  sound  and  glared  at 
Byrne,  and  men  stood  hushed  and  startled  and  amazed, 
for  the  voice  was  that  of  Norah  and  the  words  were 
strange  indeed: 

"  Fur  the  love  of  hivin,  look  what  she  had  in  her 
girdle!  Shure  it's  Leese's  own  scarf,  I  tell  ye — the 
Frenchwoman  at  the  major's !  " 

And  Byrne  thought  it  high  time  to  enter  and  take  pos 
session. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

A   STRANGER   GOING 

A  the  first  faint  flush  of  dawn  the  little  train  of 
pack  mules,  with  the  rations  for  the  beleaguered 
command  at  Sunset  Pass,  was  started  on  its  stony 
path.  Once  out  of  the  valley  of  the  Beaver  it  must 
clamber  over  range  after  range  and  stumble  through  deep 
and  tortuous  canons.  A  road  there  was — the  old  trail  by 
Snow  Lake,  thence  through  the  famous  Pass  and  the 
Sunset  crossing  of  the  Colorado  Chiquito  to  old  Fort 
Wingate.  It  wormed  its  way  out  of  the  valley  of  the 
broader  stream  some  miles  further  to  the  north  and  in 
face  of  the  Red  Rock  country  to  the  northeast,  but  it  had 
not  been  traveled  in  safety  for  a  year.  Both  Byrne  and 
Plume  believed  it  beset  with  peril,  watched  from  ambush 
by  invisible  foes  who  could  be  relied  upon  to  lurk  in  hid 
ing  until  the  train  was  within  easy  range,  then,  with  sud 
den  volley,  to  pick  off  the  officers  and  prominent  ser 
geants  and,  in  the  inevitable  confusion,  aided  by  their 
goatlike  agility,  to  make  good  their  escape.  Thirty 
sturdy  soldiers  of  the  infantry  under  a  veteran  captain 
marched  as  escort,  with  Plume's  orders  to  push  through 
to  the  relief  of  Sergeant  Brewster's  command,  and  to 
send  back  Indian  runners  with  full  account  of  the  situa 
tion.  The  relief  of  Wren's  company  accomplished,  the 

199 


200  AN  APACHE  PRINCESS 

next  thing  was  to  be  a  search  for  Wren  himself,  then  a 
determined  effort  to  find  Blakely,  and  all  the  time  to  keep 
a  lookout  for  Sanders's  troop  that  must  be  somewhere 
north  of  Chevlon's  Fork,  as  well  as  for  the  two  or  three 
little  columns  that  should  be  breaking  their  way  through 
the  unblazed  wilderness,  under  the  personal  direction  of 
the  general  himself.  Captain  Stout  and  his  party  were 
out  of  sight  up  the  Beaver  before  the  red  eye  of  the  morn 
ing  came  peering  over  the  jagged  heights  to  the  east,  and 
looking  in  upon  a  garrison  whose  eyes  were  equally  red 
and  bleary  through  lack  of  sleep — a  garrison  worn  and 
haggard  through  anxiety  and  distress  gravely  augmented 
by  the  events  of  the  night.  All  Sandy  had  been  up  and 
astir  within  five  minutes  after  Norah  Shaughnessy's 
startling  cry,  and  all  Sandy  asked  with  bated  breath  the 
same  question:  How  on  earth  happened  it  that  this 
wounded  waif  of  the  Apaches,  this  unknown  Indian  girl, 
dropped  senseless  at  their  doorway  in  the  dead  hours  of 
the  night,  should  have  in  her  possession  the  very  scarf 
worn  by  Mrs.  Plume's  nurse-companion,  the  French 
woman  Elise,  as  she  came  forth  with  her  mistress  to  drive 
away  from  Sandy,  as  was  her  hope,  forever. 

Prominent  among  those  who  had  hastened  down  to 
Sudsville,  after  the  news  of  this  discovery  had  gone  buz 
zing  through  the  line  of  officers'  quarters,  was  Janet 
Wren.  Kate  Sanders  was  staying  with  Angela,  for  the 
girls  seemed  to  find  comfort  in  each  other's  presence  and 
society.  Both  had  roused  at  sound  of  the  clamor  and 
were  up  and  half  dressed  when  a  passing  hospital  at- 


A  STRANGER  GOING 


201 


tendant  hurriedly  shouted  to  Miss  Wren  the  tidings. 
The  girls,  too,  would  have  gone,  but  Aunt  Janet  sternly 
bade  them  remain  indoors.  She  would  investigate,  she 
said,  and  bring  them  all  information. 

Dozens  of  the  men  were  still  hovering  about  old 
Shaughnessy's  quarters  as  the  tall,  gaunt  form  of  the 
captain's  sister  came  stalking  through  the  crowd,  making 
straight  for  the  doorway.  The  two  senior  officers, 
Byrne  and  Plume,  were,  in  low  tones,  interrogating 
Norah.  Plume  had  been  shown  the  scarf  and  promptly 
seconded  Norah.  He  knew  it  at  once — knew  that,  as 
Elise  came  forth  that  dismal  morning  and  passed  under 
the  light  in  the  hall,  she  had  this  very  scarf  round  her 
throat — this  that  had  been  found  upon  the  person  of  a 
wounded  and  senseless  girl.  He  remembered  now  that 
as  the  sun  climbed  higher  and  the  air  grew  warmer  the 
day  of  their  swift  flight  to  Prescott,  Elise  had  thrown 
open  her  traveling  sack,  and  he  noticed  that  the  scarf 
had  been  discarded.  He  did  not  see  it  anywhere  about 
the  Concord,  but  that  proved  nothing.  She  might  easily 
have  slipped  it  into  her  bag  or  under  the  cushions  of  the 
seat.  Both  he  and  Byrne,  therefore,  watched  with  no 
little  interest  when,  after  a  brief  glance  at  the  feverish 
and  wounded  Indian  girl,  moaning  in  the  cot  in  Mrs. 
Shaughnessy's  room,  Miss  Wren  returned  to  the  open 
air,  bearing  the  scarf  with  her.  One  moment  she 
studied  it,  under  the  dull  gleam  of  the  lantern  of  the  ser 
geant  of  the  guard,  and  then  slowly  spoke : 

"  Gentlemen,  I  have  seen  this  worn  by  Elise  and  I  be- 


202  AN  APACHE  PRINCESS 

licve  I  know  how  it  came  to  find  its  way  back  here — and 
it  does  not  brighten  the  situation.  From  our  piazza,  the 
morning  of  Major  Plume's  start  for  Prescott,  I  could 
plainly  see  Downs  hanging  about  the  wagon.  It  started 
suddenly,  as  perhaps  you  remember,  and  as  it  rolled  away 
something  went  fluttering  to  the  ground  behind.  Every 
body  was  looking  after  the  Concord  at  the  moment — 
everybody  but  Downs,  who  quickly  stooped,  picked  up  the 
thing,  and  turned  hurriedly  away.  I  believe  he  had  this 
scarf  when  he  deserted  and  that  he  has  fallen  into  the 
hands  of  the  Apaches." 

Byrne  looked  at  the  post  commander  without  speaking. 
The  color  had  mounted  one  moment  to  the  major's  face, 
then  left  him  pallid  as  before.  The  hunted,  haggard, 
weary  look  about  his  eyes  had  deepened.  That  was  all. 
The  longer  he  lived,  the  longer  he  served  about  this  woe 
begone  spot  in  mid  Arizona,  the  more  he  realized  the  in 
fluence  for  evil  that  handmaid  of  Shaitan  seemed  to  exert 
over  his  vain,  shallow,  yet  beautiful  and  beloved  wife. 
Against  it  he  had  wrought  and  pleaded  in  vain.  EHse 
had  been  with  them  since  her  babyhood,  was  his  wife's 
almost  indignant  reply.  Elise  had  been  faithful  to  her — 
devoted  to  her  all  her  life.  Elise  was  indispensable ;  the 
only  being  that  kept  her  from  going  mad  with  home 
sickness  and  misery  in  that  God-forsaken  clime.  Sobs 
and  tears  wound  up  each  interview  and,  like  many  a 
stronger  man,  Plume  had  succumbed.  It  might,  indeed, 
be  cruel  to  rob  her  of  Elise,  the  last  living  link  that  bound 
her  to  the  blessed  memories  of  her  childhood,  and  he  only 


A  STRANGER  GOING  203 

mildly  strove  to  point  out  to  her  how  oddly,  yet  persist 
ently,  her  good  name  had  suffered  through  the  words  and 
deeds  of  this  flighty,  melodramatic  Frenchwoman. 
Something  of  her  baleful  influence  he  had  seen  and  sus 
pected  before  ever  they  came  to  their  exile,  but  here  at 
Sandy,  with  full  force  he  realized  the  extent  of  her 
machinations.  Clarice  was  not  the  woman  to  go  prowl 
ing  about  the  quarters  in  the  dead  hours  of  the  night,  no 
matter  how  nervous  and  sleepless  at  home.  Clarice  was 
not  the  woman  to  be  having  back-door  conferences  with 
the  servants  of  other  households,  much  less  the  "  striker  " 
of  an  officer  with  whose  name  hers,  as  a  maiden,  had  once 
been  linked.  He  recalled  with  a  shudder  the  events  of 
the  night  that  sent  the  soldier  Mullins  to  hospital,  robbed 
of  his  wits,  if  not  of  his  life.  He  recalled  with  dread  the 
reluctant  admissions  of  the  doctor  and  of  Captain  Wren. 
Sleep-walking,  indeed !  Clarice  never  elsewhere  at  any 
time  had  shown  somnambulistic  symptoms.  It  was  Elise 
beyond  doubt  who  had  lured  her  forth  for  some  purpose 
he  could  neither  foil  nor  fathom.  It  was  Elise  who  kept 
up  this  discreditable  and  mysterious  commerce  with 
Downs, — something  that  had  culminated  in  the  burning 
of  Blakely's  home,  with  who  knows  what  evidence, — 
something  that  had  terminated  only  with  Downs's  mad 
desertion  and  probable  death.  All  this  and  more  went 
flashing  through  his  mind  as  Miss  Wren  finished  her 
brief  and  significant  story,  and  it  dawned  upon  him  that, 
whatever  it  might  be  to  others,  the  death  of  Downs — to 
him,  and  to  her  whom  he  loved  and  whose  honor  he  cher- 


204  AN  APACHE  PRINCESS 

ished — was  anything  but  a  calamity,  a  thing  to  mourn. 
Too  generous  to  say  the  words,  he  yet  turned  with 
lightened  heart  and  met  Byrne's  searching  eyes,  then 
those  of  Miss  Wren  now  fixed  upon  him  with  austere 
challenge,  as  though  she  would  say  the  flight  and  fate  of 
this  friendless  soldier  were  crimes  to  be  laid  only  at  his 
door. 

Byrne  saw  the  instant  distress  in  his  comrade's  face, 
and,  glancing  from  him  to  her,  almost  in  the  same 
instant  saw  the  inciting  cause.  Byrne  had  one  article  of 
faith  if  he  lacked  the  needful  thirty-nine.  Women  had 
no  place  in  official  affairs,  no  right  to  meddle  in  official 
matters,  and  what  he  said  on  the  spur  of  his  rising  resent 
ment  was  intended  for  her,  though  spoken  to  him.  "  So 
Downs  skipped  eastward,  did  he,  and  the  Apaches  got 
him!  Well,  Plume,  that  saves  us  a  hanging."  And 
Miss  Wren  turned  away  in  wrath  unspeakable. 

That  Downs  had  "  skipped  eastward  "  received  further 
confirmation  with  the  coming  day,  when  Wales  Arnold 
rode  into  the  fort  from  a  personally  conducted  scout  up 
the  Beaver.  Riding  out  with  Captain  Stout's  party,  he 
had  paid  a  brief  visit  to  his,  for  the  time,  abandoned  ranch, 
and  was  surprised  to  find  there,  unmolested,  the  two  per 
sons  and  all  the  property  he  had  left  the  day  he  hurried 
wife  and  household  to  the  shelter  of  the  garrison.  The 
two  persons  were  half-breed  Jose  and  his  Hualpai  squaw. 
They  had  been  with  the  Arnolds  five  long  years,  were 
known  to  all  the  Apaches,  and  had  ever  been  in  highest 
favor  with  them  because  of  the  liberality  with  which  they 


A  STRANGER  GOING  205 

dispensed  the  largesse  of  their  employer.  Never  went  an 
Indian  empty-stomached  from  their  door.  All  the  stock 
Wales  had  time  to  gather  he  had  driven  in  to  Sandy.  All 
that  was  left  Jose  had  found  and  corraled.  Just  one 
quadruped  was  missing — Arnold's  old  mustang  saddler, 
Dobbin.  Jose  said  he  had  been  gone  from  the  first  and 
with  him  an  old  bridle  and  saddle.  No  Indian  took  him, 
said  he.  It  was  a  soldier.  He  had  found  "  government 
boot  tracks  "  in  the  sand.  Then  Downs  and  Dobbin  had 
gone  together,  but  only  Dobbin  might  they  ever  look  to 
see  again. 

It  had  been  arranged  between  Byrne  and  Captain  Stout 
that  the  little  relief  column  should  rest  in  a  deep  canon 
beyond  the  springs  from  which  the  Beaver  took  its  source, 
and,  later  in  the  afternoon,  push  on  again  on  the  long, 
stony  climb  toward  the  plateau  of  the  upper  Mogollon. 
There  stood,  about  twenty-five  miles  out  from  the  post 
en  a  bee  line  to  the  northeast,  a  sharp,  rocky  peak  just 
high  enough  above  the  'fringing  pines  and  cedars  to  be 
distinctly  visible  by  day  from  the  crest  of  the  nearest  foot 
hills  west  of  the  flagstaff.  Along  the  sunset  face  of  this 
gleaming  picacho  there  was  a  shelf  or  ledge  that  had 
often  been  used  by  the  Apaches  for  signaling  purposes; 
the  renegades  communicating  with  their  kindred  about 
the  agency  up  the  valley.  Invisible  from  the  level  of 
Camp  Sandy,  these  fires  by  night,  or  smoke  and  flashes 
by  day,  reached  only  those  for  whom  they  were  intended 
— the  Apaches  at  the  reservation;  but  Stout,  who  had 
known  the  neighborhood  since  '65,  had  suggested  that 


206  AN  APACHE  PRINCESS 

lookouts  equipped  with  binoculars  be  placed  on  the  high 
ground  back  of  the  post.  Inferior  to  the  savage  in  the 
craft,  we  had  no  code  of  smoke,  fire,  or,  at  that  time,  even 
sun-flash  signal,  but  it  was  arranged  that  one  blaze  was 
to  mean  "  Unmolested  thus  far."  Two  blazes,  a  few 
yards  apart,  would  mean  "  Important  news  by  runner." 
In  the  latter  event  Plume  was  to  push  out  forty  or  fifty 
men  in  dispersed  order  to  meet  and  protect  the  runner  in 
case  he  should  be  followed,  or  possibly  headed  off,  by 
hostile  tribesmen.  Only  six  Indian  allies  had  gone  with 
Stout  and  he  had  eyed  them  with  marked  suspicion  and 
disfavor.  They,  too,  were  Apache  Yumas.  The  day 
wore  on  slowly,  somberly.  All  sound  of  life,  melody,  or 
merriment  had  died  out  at  Camp  Sandy.  Even  the 
hounds  seemed  to  feel  that  a  cloud  of  disaster  hung  over 
the  garrison.  Only  at  rare  intervals  some  feminine  shape 
flitted  along  the  line  of  deserted  verandas — some  woman 
on  a  mission  of  mercy  to  some  mourning,  sore-troubled 
sister  among  the  scattered  households.  For  several 
hours  before  high  noon  the  wires  from  Prescott  had  been 
hot  with  demand  for  news,  and  with  messages  from 
Byrne  or  Plume  to  department  headquarters.  At 
meridian,  however,  there  came  a  lull,  and  at  2  P.  M.  a 
break.  Somewhere  to  the  west  the  line  was  snapped  and 
down.  At  2.15  two  linesmen  galloped  forth  to  find  and 
repair  damages,  half  a  dozen  "  doughboys  "  on  a  buck- 
board  going  as  guard.  Otherw.se,  all  day  long,  no  sol 
dier  left  the  post,  and  when  darkness  settled  down,  the 
anxious  operator,  seated  at  his  keyboard,  was  still  un- 


A  STRANGER  GOING  207 

able  to  wake  the  spirit  of  the  gleaming  copper  thread  that 
spanned  the  westward  wilderness. 

All  Sandy  was  wakeful,  out  on  the  broad  parade,  or 
the  officers'  verandas,  and  gazing  as  one  man  or  woman 
at  the  bold,  black  upheaval  a  mile  behind  the  post,  at 
whose  summit  twinkled  a  tiny  star,  a  single  lantern,  tell 
ing  of  the  vigil  of  Plume's  watchers.  If  Stout  made  even 
fair  time  he  should  have  reached  the  picacho  at  dusk,  and 
now  it  was  nearly  nine  and  not  a  glimmer  of  fire  had  been 
seen  at  the  appointed  rendezvous.  Nine  passed  and  9.15, 
and  at  9.30  the  fifes  and  drums  of  the  Eighth  turned  out 
and  began  the  long,  weird  complaint  of  the  tattoo.  No 
body  wished  to  go  to  bed.  Why  not  sound  reveille  and 
let  them  sit  up  all  night,  if  they  chose  ?  It  was  far  better 
than  tossing  sleepless  through  the  long  hours  to  the  dawn. 
It  was  nearly  time  for  "  taps  " — lights  out — when  a  yell 
went  up  from  the  parade  and  all  Sandy  started  to  its  feet. 
All  on  a  sudden  the  spark  at  the  lookout  bluff  began  vio 
lently  to  dance,  and  a  dozen  men  tore  out  of  garrison, 
eager  to  hear  the  news.  They  were  met  halfway  by  a 
sprinting  corporal,  whom  they  halted  with  eager  demand 
for  his  news.  "  Two  blazes ! "  he  panted,  "  two !  I 
must  get  in  to  the  major  at  once !  "  Five  minutes  more 
the  Assembly,  not  Taps,  was  sounding.  Plume  was 
sending  forth  his  fifty  rescuers,  and  with  them,  impatient 
for  tidings  from  the  far  front,  went  Byrne,  the  major 
himself  following  as  soon  as  he  could  change  to  riding 
dress.  The  last  seen  of  the  little  command  was  the 
glinting  of  the  starlight  on  the  gun  barrels  as  they  forded 


208  AN  APACHE  PRINCESS 

the  rippling  stream  and  took  the  trail  up  the  narrow, 
winding  valley  of  the  Beaver. 

It  was  then  a  little  after  ten  o'clock.  The  wire  to 
Prescott  was  still  unresponsive.  Nothing  had  been 
heard  from  the  linesmen  and  their  escort,  indicating  that 
the  break  was  probably  far  over  as  the  Agua  Fria.  Not 
a  sign,  except  Stout's  signal  blazes  at  the  picacho,  had 
been  gathered  from  the  front.  Camp  Sandy  was  cut 
off  from  the  world,  and  the  actual  garrison  left  to  guard 
the  post  and  protect  the  women,  children  and  the  sick  as 
eleven  o'clock  drew  nigh,  was  exactly  forty  men  of  the 
fighting  force.  It  was  believed  that  Stout's  couriers 
would  make  the  homeward  run,  very  nearly,  by  the  route 
the  pack-train  took  throughout  the  day,  and  if  they 
succeeded  in  evading  hostile  scouts  or  parties,  would  soon 
appear  about  some  of  the  breaks  of  the  upper  Beaver, 
Thither,  therefore,  with  all  possible  speed  Plume  had 
directed  his  men,  promising  Mrs.  Sanders,  as  he  rode 
away,  that  the  moment  a  runner  was  encountered  he  would 
send  a  light  rider  at  the  gallop,  on  his  own  good  horse — 
that  not  a  moment  should  be  lost  in  bearing  them  the 
news. 

But  midnight  came  without  a  sign.  Long  before  thai 
hour,  as  though  by  common  impulse,  almost  all  the 
women  of  the  garrison  had  gathered  about  Truman's 
quarters,  now  the  northernmost  of  the  row  and  in  plain 
view  of  the  confluence  of  the  Sandy  and  the  Beaver.  Dr. 
Graham,  who  had  been  swinging  to  and  fro  between  the 
limits  of  the  Shaughnessys'  and  the  hospital,  stopped  to 


A  STRANGER  GOING  209 

speak  with  them  a  moment  and  gently  drew  Angela  to 
one  side.  His  grave  and  rugged  face  was  sweet  in  its 
tenderness  as  he  looked  down  into  her  brimming  eyes. 
"  Can  you  not  be  content  at  home,  my  child  ?  "  he  mur 
mured.  "  You  seem  like  one  of  my  own  bairns,  An 
gela,  now  that  your  brave  father  is  afield,  and  I  want  to 
have  his  bonnie  daughter  looking  her  best  against  the 
home-coming.  Surely  Aunt  Janet  will  bring  you  the 
news  the  moment  any  comes,  and  I'll  bid  Kate  Sanders 
bide  with  you !  " 

No,  she  would  not — she  could  not  go  home.  Like 
every  other  soul  in  all  Camp  Sandy  she  seemed  to  long  to 
be  just  there.  Some  few  had  even  gone  out  further,  be 
yond  the  sentries,  to  the  point  of  the  low  bluff,  and  there, 
chatting  only  in  whispers,  huddled  together,  listening  in 
anxiety  inexpressible  for  the  muffled  sound  of  galloping 
hoofs  on  soft  and  sandy  shore.  No,  she  dare  not,  for 
within  the  four  walls  of  that  little  white  room  what 
dreams  and  visions  had  the  girl  not  seen?  and,  wakening 
shuddering,  had  clung  to  faithful  Kate  and  sobbed  her 
heart  out  in  those  clasping,  tender,  loyal  arms.  No 
beauty,  indeed,  was  Kate,  as  even  her  fond  mother  rue 
fully  admitted,  but  there  was  that  in  her  great,  gentle, 
unselfish  heart  that  made  her  beloved  by  one  and  all. 
Yet  Kate  had  pleaded  with  Angela  in  vain.  Some 
strange,  forceful  mood  had  seized  the  girl  and  steeled 
and  strengthened  her  against  even  Janet  Wren's  author 
ity.  She  would  not  leave  the  little  band  of  watchers. 
She  was  there  when,  toward  half-past  twelve,  at  last  the 


210  AN  APACHE  PRINCESS 

message  came.  Plume's  own  horse  came  tearing  through 
the  flood,  and  panting,  reeking,  trembling  into  their 
midst,  and  his  rider,  little  Fifer  Lanigan,  of  Company 
"  C,"  sprang  from  saddle  and  thrust  his  dispatch  into 
Truman's  outstretched  hand. 

With  women  and  children  crowding  about  him,  and 
men  running  to  the  scene  from  every  side,  by  the  light  of 
a  lantern  held  in  a  soldier's  shaking  hand,  he  read  aloud 
the  contents: 

"  BIVOUAC  AT  PICACHO,  9  P.  M. 
"C.  O.  CAMP  SANDY: 

"  Reached  this  point  after  hard  march,  but  no  active  opposition, 
at  8  P.  M.  First  party  sent  to  build  fire  on  ledge  driven  in  by 
hostiles.  Corporal  Welch  shot  through  left  side — serious.  Threw 
out  skirmishers  and  drove  them  off  after  some  firing,  and  about 
9.20  came  suddenly  upon  Indian  boy  crouching  among  rocks, 
who  held  up  folded  paper  which  I  have  read  and  forward  here 
with.  We  shall,  of  course,  turn  toward  Snow  Lake,  taking  boy 
as  guide.  March  at  3  A.  M.  Will  do  everything  possible  to 
reach  Wren  on  time. 

(Signed)    "  STOUT,  Commanding." 

Within  was  another  slip,  grimy  and  with  dark  stains. 
And  Truman's  voice  well-nigh  failed  him  as  he  read : 

"  November — th. 
"C.  O.  CAMP  SANDY: 

"Through  a  friendly  Apache  who  was  with  me  at  the  reservation 
I  learned  that  Captain  Wren  was  lying  wounded,  cutoff  from  his 
troop  and  with  only  four  of  his  men,  in  a  canon  southwest  of 
Snow  Lake.  With  Indian  for  guide  we  succeeded  reaching  him 
second  night,  but  are  now  surrounded,  nearly  out  of  ammunition 
and  rations.  Three  more  of  our  party  are  wounded  and  one, 
Trooper  Kent,  killed.  If  not  rushed  can  hold  out  perhaps  three 
days  more,  but  Wren  sorely  needs  surgical  aid. 

(Signed)    "  BLAKELY." 


A  STRANGER  GOING  211 

That  was  all.  The  Bugologist  with  his  one  orderly, 
and  apparently  without  the  Apache  Yuma  scouts,  had 
gone  straightway  to  the  rescue  of  Wren.  Now  all  were 
cut  off  and  surrounded  by  a  wily  foe  that  counted  on, 
sooner  or  later,  overcoming  and  annihilating  them,  and 
even  by  the  time  the  Indian  runner  slipped  out  (some 
faithful  spirit  won  by  Blakely's  kindness  and  humanity 
when  acting  agent),  the  defense  had  been  reduced  just 
one-half.  Thank  God  that  Stout  with  his  supplies  and 
stalwart  followers  was  not  more  than  two  days'  march 
away,  and  was  going  straightway  to  the  rescue ! 

It  was  nearly  two  when  Plume  and  his  half-hundred 
came  drifting  back  to  the  garrison,  and  even  then  some 
few  of  the  watchers  were  along  the  bluff.  Janet  Wren, 
having  at  last  seen  pale-faced,  silent  Angela  to  her  room 
and  bed,  with  Kate  Sanders  on  guard,  had  again  gone 
forth  to  extract  such  further  information  as  Major  Plume 
might  have.  Even  at  that  hour  men  were  at  work  in  the 
corrals,  fitting  saddles  to  half  a  dozen  spare  horses, — 
about  all  that  were  left  at  the  post, — and  Miss  Wren 
learned  that  Colonel  Byrne,  with  an  orderly  or  two,  had 
remained  at  Arnold's  ranch, — that  Arnold  himself,  with 
six  horsemen  from  the  post,  was  to  set  forth  at  four,  join 
the  colonel  at  dawn,  and  together  all  were  to  push  for 
ward  on  the  trail  of  Stout's  command,  hoping  to  over 
take  them  by  nightfall.  She  whispered  this  to  sleepless 
Kate  on  her  return  to  the  house,  for  Angela,  exhausted 
with  grief  and  long  suspense,  had  fallen,  apparently,  into 
deep  and  dreamless  slumber. 


AN  APACHE  PRINCESS 

But  the  end  of  that  eventful  night  was  not  yet.  Ar 
nold  and  his  sextette  slipped  away  soon  after  four  o'clock, 
and  about  4.50  there  came  a  banging  at  the  major's  door. 
It  was  the  telegraph  operator.  The  wire  was  patched  at 
last,  and  the  first  message  was  to  the  effect  that  the  guard 
had  been  fired  on  in  Cherry  Creek  canon — that  Private 
Forrest  was  sorely  wounded  and  lying  at  Dick's  deserted 
ranch,  with  two  of  their  number  to  care  for  him.  Could 
they  possibly  send  a  surgeon  at  once? 

There  was  no  one  to  go  but  Graham.  His  patients  at 
the  post  were  doing  fairly  well,  but  there  wasn't  a  horse 
for  him  to  ride.  "  No  matter,"  said  he,  "  I'll  borrow 
Punch.  He's  needing  exercise  these  days."  So  Punch 
was  ordered  man-saddled  and  brought  forthwith.  The 
orderly  came  back  in  ten  minutes.  "  Punch  aint  there, 
sir,"  said  he.  "  He's  been  gone  over  half  an  hour." 

"  Gone  ?  Gone  where  ?  Gone  how  ?  "  asked  Graham 
in  amaze. 

"  Gone  with  Miss  Angela,  sir.  She  saddled  him  her 
self  and  rode  away  not  twenty  minutes  after  Arnold's 
party  left.  The  sentries  say  she  followed  up  the  Beaver." 


CHAPTER  XIX 

BESIEGED 

DEEP  down  in   a  ragged  cleft  of  the  desert,  with 
shelving  rock  and   giant  bowlder  on  every  side, 
without  a  sign    of  leaf,  or  sprig   of  grass,  or 
tendril  of  tiny  creeping  plant,  a  little  party  of  haggard, 
hunted  men  lay  in  hiding  and  in  the  silence  of  exhaustion 
and  despond,  awaiting  the  inevitable.     Bulging  outward 
overhead,  like  the  counter  of  some  huge  battleship,  a 
great  mass  of  solid  granite  heaved  unbroken  above  them, 
forming  a  recess  or  cave,  in  which  they  were  secure 
against  arrow,  shot,  or  stone  from  the  crest  of  the  lofty, 
almost  vertical  walls  of  the  vast  and  gloomy  canon.    Well 
back  under  this  natural  shelter,  basined  in  the  hollowed 
rock,  a  blessed  pool  of  fair  water  lay  unwrinkled  by  even 
a  flutter  of  breeze.     Relic  of  the  early  springtime  and  the 
melting  snows,  it  had  been  caught  and  imprisoned  here 
after  the  gradually  failing  stream  had  trickled  itself  into 
nothingness.     One  essential,  one  comfort  then  had  not 
been  denied  the  beleaguered  few,  but  it  was  about  the 
only  one.     Water  for  drink,   for  fevered  wounds  and 
burning  throats,  they  had  in  abundance;  but  the  last 
"  hard-tack  "  had  been  shared,  the  last  scrap  of  bacon 
long  since  devoured.    Of  the  once-abundant  rations  only 
coffee   grains   were    left,     Of    the   cartridge-crammed 

313 


214  AN  APACHE  PRINCESS 

"  thimble  belts,"  with  which  they  had  entered  the  canon 
and  the  Apache  trap,  only  three  contained  so  much  as  a 
single  copper  cylinder,  stopped  by  its  forceful  lead. 
These  three  belonged  to  troopers,  two  of  whom,  at  least 
would  never  have  use  for  them  again.  One  of  these, 
poor  Jerry  Kent,  lay  buried  beneath  the  little  cairn  of  rocks 
in  still  another  cavelike  recess  a  dozen  yards  away,  hidden 
there  by  night,  when  prowling  Apaches  could  not  see  the 
sorrowing  burial  party  and  crush  them  with  bowlders 
heaved  over  the  precipice  above,  or  shoot  them  down  with 
whistling  lead  or  steel-tipped  arrow  from  some  safe  covert 
in  the  rocky  walls. 

Cut  off  from  their  comrades  while  scouting  a  side 
ravine,  Captain  Wren  and  his  quartette  of  troopers  had 
made  stiff  and  valiant  fight  against  such  of  the  Indians 
as  permitted  hand  or  head  to  show  from  behind  the  rocks. 
They  had  felt  confident  that  Sergeant  Brewster  and  the 
main  body  would  speedily  miss  them,  or  hear  the  sound 
of  firing  and  turn  back  au  secowrs,  but  sounds  are  queerly 
carried  in  such  a  maze  of  deep  and  tortuous  clefts  as 
seamed  the  surface  in  every  conceivable  direction  through 
the  wild  basin  of  the  Colorado.  Brewster's  rearmost  files 
declared  long  after  that  never  the  faintest  whisper  of 
affray  had  reached  their  ears,  already  half  deadened  by 
fatigue  and  the  ceaseless  crash  of  iron-shod  hoofs  on 
shingly  rock.  As  for  Brewster  himself,  he  was  able  to 
establish  that  Wren's  own  orders  were  to  "  push  ahead  " 
and  try  to  make  Sunset  Pass  by  nightfall,  while  the  cap 
tain,  with  such  horses  as  seemed  freshest,  scouted  right 


BESIEGED  215 

and  left  wherever  possible.  The  last  seen  of  Jerry  Kent, 
it  later  transpired,  was  when  he  came  riding  after  them 
to  say  the  captain  had  gone  into  the  mouth  of  the  gorge 
opening  to  the  west,  and  the  last  message  borne  from  the 
commander  to  the  troop  came  through  Jerry  Kent  to 
Sergeant  Dusold,  who  brought  up  the  rear.  They  had 
passed  the  mouths  of  half  a  dozen  ravines  within  the 
hour,  some  on  one  side,  some  on  the  other,  and  Dusold 
"  passed  the  word  "  by  sending  Corporal  Slater  clatter 
ing  up  the  caiion,  skirting  the  long  drawn-out  column  of 
files  until,  far  in  the  lead,  he  could  overtake  the  senior 
sergeant  and  deliver  his  message.  Later,  when  Brew- 
ster  rode  back  with  all  but  the  little  guard  left  over  his 
few  broken-down  men  and  mounts  in  Sunset  Pass,  Dus 
old  could  confidently  locate  in  his  own  mind  the  exact 
spot  where  Kent  overtook  him;  but  Dusold  was  a  drill- 
book  dragoon  of  the  Prussian  school,  consummately  at 
home  on  review  or  parade,  but  all  at  sea,  so  to  speak,  in 
the  mountains.  They  never  found  a  trace  of  their  loved 
leader.  The  clefts  they  scouted  were  all  on  the  wrong 
side. 

And  so  it  happened  that  relief  came  not,  that  one  after 
another  the  five  horses  fell,  pierced  with  missiles  or 
crushed  and  stunned  by  rocks  crashing  down  from  above, 
that  Kent  himself  was  shot  through  the  brain,  and  Wren 
skewered  through  the  arm  by  a  Tonto  shaft,  and  plugged 
with  a  round  rifle  ball  in  the  shoulder.  Sergeant  Car- 
mody  bound  up  his  captain's  wound  as  best  he  could,  and 
by  rare  good  luck,  keeping  up  a  bold  front,  and  answer- 


216  AN  APACHE  PRINCESS 

ing  every  shot,  they  fought  their  way  to  this  little  refuge 
in  the  rocks,  and  there,  behind  improvised  barricades  or 
bowlders,  "  stood  off  "  their  savage  foe,  hoping  rescue 
might  soon  reach  them. 

But  Wren  was  nearly  wild  from  wounds  and  fever 
when  the  third  day  came  and  no  sign  of  the  troop.  An 
other  man  had  been  hit  and  stung,  and  though  not  seri 
ously  wounded,  like  a  burnt  child,  he  now  shunned  the 
fire  and  became,  perforce,  an  ineffective.  Their  scanty 
store  of  rations  was  gone  entirely.  Sergeant  Carmody 
and  his  alternate  watchers  were  worn  out  from  lack  of 
sleep  when,  in  the  darkness  of  midnight,  a  low  hail  in 
their  own  tongue  came  softly  through  the  dead  silence, — 
the  voice  of  Lieutenant  Blakely  cautioning,  "  Don't  fire, 
Wren.  It's  the  Bugologist,"  and  in  another  moment  he 
and  his  orderly  afoot,  in  worn  Apache  moccasins,  but 
equipped  with  crammed  haversacks  and  ammunition 
belts,  were  being  welcomed  by  the  besieged.  There  was 
little  of  the  emotional  and  nothing  of  the  melodramatic 
about  it.  It  was,  if  anything,  rather  commonplace. 
Wren  was  flighty  and  disposed  to  give  orders  for  an  im 
mediate  attack  in  force  on  the  enemy's  works,  to  which 
the  sergeant,  his  lips  trembling  just  a  bit,  responded  with 
prompt  salute :  "  Very  good,  sir,  just  as  quick  as  the  men 
can  finish  supper.  Loot'nent  Blakely's  compliments,  sir, 
and  he'll  be  ready  in  ten  minutes,"  for  Blakely  and  his 
man,  seeing  instantly  the  condition  of  things,  had  fresh 
ened  the  little  fire  and  begun  unloading  supplies.  Sola- 
lay,  their  Indian  guide,  after  piloting  them  through  the 


BESIEGED  217 

woodland  southwest  of  Snow  Lake,  had  pointed  out  the 
canon,  bidden  them  follow  it  and,  partly  in  the  sign  lan 
guage,  partly  in  Spanish,  partly  in  the  few  Apache  terms 
that  Blakely  had  learned  during  his  agency  days,  man 
aged  to  make  them  understand  that  Wren  was  to  be  found 
some  five  miles  further  on,  and  that  most  of  the  besieging 
Tontos  were  on  the  heights  above  or  in  the  canon  below. 
Few  would  be  encountered,  if  any,  on  the  up-stream  side. 
Then,  promising  to  take  the  horses  and  the  mules  to 
Camp  Sandy,  he  had  left  them.  He  dared  go  no  farther 
toward  the  warring  Apaches.  They  would  suspect  and 
butcher  him  without  mercy. 

But  Solalay  had  not  gone  without  promise  of  further 
aid.  Natzie's  younger  brother,  Alchisay,  had  recently 
come  to  him  with  a  message  from  her,  and  should  be  com 
ing  with  another.  Solalay  thought  he  could  find  the  boy 
and  send  him  to  them  to  be  used  as  a  courier.  Blakely's 
opportune  coming  had  cheered  not  a  little  the  flagging 
defense,  but,  not  until  forty-eight  hours  thereafter,  by 
which  time  their  condition  had  become  almost  desperate 
and  the  foe  almost  daring,  did  the  lithe,  big-eyed,  swarthy 
little  Apache  reach  them.  Blakely  knew  him  instantly, 
wrote  his  dispatch  and  bade  the  boy  go  with  all  speed, 
with  the  result  we  know.  "  Three  more  of  our  party  are 
wounded,"  he  had  written,  but  had  not  chosen  to  say  that 
one  of  them  was  himself. 

A  solemn  sight  was  this  that  met  the  eyes  of  the  Bug- 
ologist,  as  Carmody  roused  him  from  a  fitful  sleep,  with 
the  murmured  words,  "Almost  light,  sir.  They'll  be  on 


218  AN  APACHE  PRINCESS 

us  soon  as  they  can  see."  Deep  in  under  the  overhang 
and  close  to  the  pool  lay  one  poor  fellow  whose  swift, 
gasping  breath  told  all  too  surely  that  the  Indian  bullet 
had  found  fatal  billet  in  his  wasting  form.  It  was  Chal 
mers,  a  young  Southerner,  driven  by  poverty  at  home 
and  prospect  of  adventure  abroad  to  seek  service  in  the 
cavalry.  It  was  practically  his  first  campaign,  and  in  all 
human  probability  his  last.  Consciousness  had  left  him 
hours  ago,  and  his  vagrant  spirit  was  fast  loosing  every 
earthly  bond,  and  already,  in  fierce  dreamings,  at  war 
with  unseen  and  savage  foe  over  their  happy  hunting 
grounds  in  the  great  Beyond.  Near  him,  equally  shel 
tered,  yet  further  toward  the  dim  and  pallid  light,  lay 
Wren,  his  strong  Scotch  features  pinched  and  drawn  with 
pain  and  loss  of  blood  and  lack  of  food.  Fever  there  was 
little  left,  there  was  so  little  left  for  it  to  live  upon.  Weak 
and  helpless  as  a  child  in  arms  he  lay,  inert  and  silent. 
There  was  nothing  he  could  do.  Never  a  quarter  hour 
had  passed  since  he  had  been  forced  to  lie  there  that  some 
one  of  his  devoted  men  had  not  bathed  his  forehead  and 
cooled  his  burning  wounds  with  abundant  flow  of  blessed 
water.  Twice  since  his  gradual  return  to  consciousness 
had  he  asked  for  Blakely,  and  had  bidden  him  sit  and  tell 
him  of  Sandy,  asking  for  tidings  of  Angela,  and  faltering 
painfully  as  he  bethought  himself  of  the  last  instructions 
he  had  given.  How  could  Blakely  be  supposed  to  know 
aught  of  her  or  of  the  household  bidden  to  treat  him 
practically  as  a  stranger  ?  Now,  he  thought  it  grand  that 
the  Bugologist  had  thrown  all  consideration  of  peril  to 


BESIEGED  219 

the  wind  and  had  hastened  to  their  aid  to  share  their  des 
perate  fortunes.  But  Wren  knew  not  how  to  tell  of  it. 
He  took  courage  and  hope  when  Blakely  spoke  of  Sola- 
lay's  loyalty,  of  young  Alchisay's  daring  visit  and  his 
present  mission.  Apaches  of  his  band  had  been  known 
to  traverse  sixty  miles  a  day  over  favorable  ground,  and 
Alchisay,  even  through  such  a  labyrinth  of  rock,  ravine, 
and  precipice,  should  not  make  less  than  thirty.  Within 
forty-eight  hours  of  his  start  the  boy  ought  to  reach  the 
Sandy  valley,  and  surely  no  moment  would  then  be  lost 
in  sending  troops  to  find  and  rescue  them.  But  four  days 
and  nights,  said  Blakely  to  himself,  was  the  least  time  in 
which  they  could  reasonably  hope  for  help,  and  now  only 
the  third  night  had  gone, — gone  with  their  supplies  of 
every  kind.  A  few  hours  more  and  the  sun  would  be 
blazing  in  upon  even  the  dank  depths  of  the  canon  for 
his  midday  stare.  A  few  minutes  more  and  the  Apaches, 
too,  would  be  up  and  blazing  on  their  own  account. 
"  Keep  well  under  shelter,"  were  Blakely's  murmured  or 
ders  to  the  few  men,  even  as  the  first,  faint  breath  of  the 
dawn  came  floating  from  the  broader  reaches  far  down 
the  rocky  gorge. 

In  front  of  their  cavelike  refuge,  just  under  the  shelv 
ing  mass  overhead,  heaped  in  a  regular  semicircle,  a 
rude  parapet  of  rocks  gave  shelter  to  the  troopers  guard 
ing  the  approaches.  Little  loopholes  had  been  left,  three 
looking  down  and  two  northward  up  the  dark  and  tor 
tuous  rift.  In  each  of  these  a  loaded  carbine  lay  in 
readiness.  So  well  chosen  was  the  spot  that  for  one 


220  AN  APACHE  PRINCESS 

hundred  yards  southeastward — down  stream — the  nar 
row  gorge  was  commanded  by  the  fire  of  the  defense, 
while  above,  for  nearly  eighty,  from  wall  to  wall,  the  ap 
proach  was  similarly  swept.  No  rush  was  therefore 
possible  on  part  of  the  Apaches  without  every  probability 
of  their  losing  two  or  three  of  the  foremost.  The 
Apache  lacks  the  magnificent  daring  of  the  Sioux  or 
Cheyenne.  He  is  a  fighter  from  ambush;  he  risks  noth 
ing  for  glory's  sake ;  he  is  a  monarch  in  craft  and  guile, 
but  no  hero  in  open  battle.  For  nearly  a  week  now,  day 
after  day,  the  position  of  the  defenders  had  been  made 
almost  terrible  by  the  fierce  bombardment  to  which  it  had 
been  subjected,  of  huge  stones  or  bowlders  sent  thunder 
ing  down  the  almost  precipitous  walls,  then  bounding 
from  ledge  to  ledge,  or  glancing  from  solid,  sloping  face 
diving,  finally,  with  fearful  crash  into  the  rocky  bed  at  the 
bottom,  sending  a  shower  of  fragments  hurtling  in  every 
direction,  oft  dislodging  some  section  of  parapet,  yet 
never  reaching  the  depths  of  the  cave.  Add  to  this 
nerve-racking  siege  work  the  instant,  spiteful  flash  of 
barbed  arrow  or  zip  and  crack  of  bullet  when  hat  or  hand 
of  one  of  the  defenders  was  for  a  second  exposed,  and  it 
is  not  difficult  to  fancy  the  wear  and  tear  on  even  the 
stoutest  heart  in  the  depleted  little  band. 

And  still  they  set  their  watch  and  steeled  their  nerves, 
and  in  dogged  silence  took  their  station  as  the  pallid  light 
grew  roseate  on  the  cliffs  above  them.  And  with  dull 
and  wearied,  yet  wary,  eyes,  each  soldier  scanned  every 
projecting  rock  or  point  that  could  give  shelter  to  lurking 


THE    KIGHT    I2T    THE    CANON" 


BESIEGED  221 

foe,  and  all  the  time  the  brown  muzzles  of  the  carbines 
were  trained  low  along  the  stream  bed.  No  shot  could 
now  be  thrown  away  at  frowsy  turban  or  flaunting  rag 
along  the  cliffs.  The  rush  was  the  one  thing  they  had  to 
dread  and  drive  back.  It  was  God's  mercy  the  Apache 
dared  not  charge  in  the  dark. 

Lighter  grew  the  deep  gorge  and  lighter  still,  and  soon 
in  glorious  radiance  the  morning  sunshine  blazed  on  the 
lofty  battlements  far  overhead,  and  every  moment  the 
black  shadow  on  the  westward  wall,  visible  to  the  defense 
long  rifle-shot  southeastward,  gave  gradual  way  before 
the  rising  day  god,  and  from  the  broader  open  reaches 
beyond  the  huge  granite  shoulder,  around  which  wound 
the  canon,  and  from  the  sun-kissed  heights,  a  blessed 
warmth  stole  softly  in,  grateful  inexpressibly  to  their 
chilled  and  stiffened  limbs.  And  still,  despite  the  grow 
ing  hours,  neither  shot  nor  sign  came  from  the  accus 
tomed  haunts  of  the  surrounding  foe.  Six  o'clock  was 
marked  by  Blakely's  watch.  Six  o'clock  and  seven,  and 
the  low  moan  from  the  lips  of  poor  young  Chalmers,  or 
the  rattle  of  some  pebble  dislodged  by  the  foot  of 
crouching  guardian,  or  some  murmured  word  from  man 
to  man, — some  word  of  wonderment  at  the  unlooked  for 
lull  in  Apache  siege  operations, — was  the  only  sound  to 
break  the  almost  deathlike  silence  of  the  morning.  There 
was  one  other,  far  up  among  the  stunted,  shriveled  pines 
and  cedars  that  jutted  from  the  opposite  heights.  They 
could  hear  at  intervals  a  weird,  mournful  note,  a  single 
whistling  call  in  dismal  minor,  but  it  brought  no  new  sig- 


222  AN  APACHE  PRINCESS 

nificance.  Every  day  of  their  undesired  and  enforced 
sojourn,  every  hour  of  the  interminable  day,  that  raven- 
like,  hermit  bird  of  the  Sierras  had  piped  his  unmelodious 
signal  to  some  distant  feathered  fellow,  and  sent  a  chill 
to  the  heart  of  more  than  one  war-tried  soldier.  There 
was  never  a  man  in  Arizona  wilds  that  did  not  hate  the 
sound  of  it.  And  yet,  as  eight  o'clock  was  noted  and 
still  no  sight  or  sound  of  assailant  came,  Sergeant  Car- 
mody  turned  a  wearied,  aching  eye  from  his  loophole  and 
muttered  to  the  officer  crouching  close  beside  him :  "  I 
could  wring  the  neck  of  the  lot  of  those  infernal  cat 
crows,  sir,  but  I'll  thank  God  if  we  hear  no  worse  sound 
this  day." 

Blakely  rose  to  his  feet  and  wearily  leaned  upon  the 
breastworks,  peering  cautiously  over.  Yesterday  the 
sight  of  a  scouting  hat  would  have  brought  instant  whiz 
of  arrow,  but  not  a  missile  saluted  him  now.  One  arm, 
his  left,  was  rudely  bandaged  and  held  in  a  sling,  a  rifle 
ball  from  up  the  cliff,  glancing  from  the  inner  face  of  the 
parapet,  had  torn  savagely  through  muscle  and  sinew,  but 
mercifully  scored  neither  artery  nor  bone.  An  arrow, 
whizzing  blindly  through  a  southward  loophole,  had 
grazed  his  cheek,  ripping  a  straight  red  seam  far  back 
as  the  lobe  of  the  ear,  which  had  been  badly  torn. 
Blakely  had  little  the  look  of  a  squire  of  dames  as,  thus 
maimed  and  scarred  and  swathed  in  blood-stained  cotton, 
he  peered  down  the  deep  and  shadowy  cleft  and  searched 
with  eyes  keen,  if  yet  unskilled,  every  visible  section  of 
the  opposite  wall.  What  could  their  silence  mean  ?  Had 


BESIEGED  223 

they  found  other  game,  pitifully  small  in  numbers  as 
these  besieged,  and  gone  to  butcher  them,  knowing  well 
that,  hampered  by  their  wounded,  these,  their  earlier  vic 
tims,  could  not  hope  to  escape?  Had  they  got  warning 
of  the  approach  of  some  strong  force  of  soldiery — Brew- 
ster  scouting  in  search  of  them,  or  may  be  Sanders  him 
self?  Had  they  slipped  away,  therefore,  and  could  the 
besieged  dare  to  creep  forth  and  shout,  signal,  or  even 
fire  away  two  or  three  of  these  last  precious  car 
tridges  in  hopes  of  catching  the  ear  of  searching  com 
rades  ? 

Wren,  exhausted,  had  apparently  dropped  into  a  fitful 
doze.  His  eyes  were  shut,  his  lips  were  parted,  his  long, 
lean  fingers  twitched  at  times  as  a  tremor  seemed  to  shoot 
through  his  entire  frame.  Another  day  like  the  last  or 
at  worst  like  this,  without  food  or  nourishment,  and  even 
such  rugged  strength  as  had  been  his  would  be  taxed  to 
the  utmost.  There  might  be  no  to-morrow  for  the  sturdy 
soldier  who  nad  so  gallantly  served  his  adopted  country, 
his  chosen  flag.  As  for  Chalmers,  the  summons  was  al 
ready  come.  Far  from  home  and  those  who  most  loved 
and  would  sorely  grieve  for  him,  the  brave  lad  was  dying. 
Carmody,  kneeling  by  his  side,  but  the  moment  before 
had  looked  up  mutely  in  his  young  commander's 
face,  and  his  swimming,  sorrowing  eyes  had  told  the 
story. 

Nine  o'clock  had  come  without  a  symptom  of  alarm  or 
enemy  from  without,  yet  death  had  invaded  the  lonely 
refuge  in  the  rocks,  claiming  one  victim  as  his  tribute  for 


224:  AN  APACHE  PRINCESS 

the  day  and  setting  his  seal  upon  still  another,  the  pros 
pective  sacrifice  for  the  dismal  morrow,  and  Blakely  could 
stand  the  awful  strain  no  longer. 

"  Sergeant,"  said  he,  "  I  must  know  what  this  means. 
We  must  have  help  for  the  captain  before  this  sun  goes 
down,  or  he  may  be  gone  before  we  know  it." 

And  Carmody  looked  him  in  the  face  and  answered :  "  I 
am  strong  yet  and  unhurt.  Let  me  make  the  try,  sir. 
Some  of  our  fellows  must  be  scouting  near  us,  or  these 
beggars  wouldn't  have  quit.  I  can  find  the  boys,  if  any 
one  can." 

Blakely  turned  and  gazed  one  moment  into  the  deep 
and  dark  recess  where  lay  his  wounded  and  the  dying. 
The  morning  wind  had  freshened  a  bit,  and  a  low,  mur 
murous  song,  nature's  ^Eolian,  came  softly  from  the 
swaying  pine  and  stunted  oak  and  juniper  far  on  high. 
The  whiff  that  swept  to  their  nostrils  from  the  lower 
depths  of  the  canon  told  its  own  grewsome  tale.  There, 
scattered  along  the  stream  bed,  lay  the  festering  remains 
of  their  four-footed  comrades,  first  victims  of  the  ambus 
cade.  Death  lurked  about  their  refuge  then  on  every 
side,  and  was  even  invading  their  little  fortress.  Was 
this  to  be  the  end,  after  all  ?  Was  there  neither  help  nor 
hope  from  any  source? 

Turning  once  again,  a  murmured  prayer  upon  his  lips, 
Blakely  started  at  sight  of  Carmody.  With  one  hand  up 
lifted,  as  though  to  caution  silence,  the  other  concaved  at 
his  ear,  the  sergeant  was  bending  eagerly  forward,  his 
eyes  dilating,  his  frame  fairly  quivering.  Then,  on  a 


BESIEGED 

sudden,  up  he  sprang  and  swung  his  hat  about  his  head. 
"  Firing,  sir !  Firing,  sure ! "  he  cried.  Another  sec 
ond,  and  with  a  gasp  and  moan  he  sank  to  earth  trans 
fixed  ;  a  barbed  arrow,  whizzing  from  unseen  space,  had 
pierced  him  through  and  through. 


CHAPTER  XX 

WHERE    IS    ANGELA? 

FOR  a  moment   as   they   drew   under   shelter  the 
stricken  form  of  the  soldier,  there  was  nothing 
the   defense   could  do  but  dodge.      Then,   leav 
ing  him  at  the  edge  of  the  pool,  and  kicking  before  them 
the  one  cowed  and  cowering  shirker  of  the  little  band, 
Blakely  and  the  single  trooper  still  unhit,  crept  back  to 
the  rocky  parapet,  secured  a  carbine  each  and  knelt,  star 
ing  up  the  opposite  wall  in  search  of  the  foe.    And  not  a 
sign  of  Apache  could  they  see. 

Yet  the  very  slant  of  the  arrow  as  it  pierced  the  young 
soldier,  the  new  angle  at  which  the  bullets  bounded  from 
the  stony  crest,  the  lower,  flatter  flight  of  the  barbed 
missiles  that  struck  fire  from  the  flinty  rampart,  all  told 
the  same  story.  The  Indians  during  the  hours  of  dark 
ness,  even  while  dreading  to  charge,  had  managed  to 
crawl,  snake-like,  to  lower  levels  along  the  cliff  and  to 
creep  closer  up  the  stream  bed,  and  with  stealthy,  noise 
less  hands  to  rear  little  shelters  of  stone,  behind  which 
they  were  now  crouching  invisible  and  secure.  With  the 
illimitable  patience  of  their  savage  training  they  had  then 
waited,  minute  after  minute,  hour  after  hour,  until,  lulled 
at  last  into  partial  belief  that  their  deadly  foe  had  slipped 
away,  some  of  the  defenders  should  be  emboldened  to 

236 


WHERE  IS  ANGELA?  227 

venture  into  view,  and  then  one  well-aimed  volley  at  the 
signal  from  the  leader's  rifle,  and  the  vengeful  shafts  of 
those  who  had  as  yet  only  the  native  weapon,  would  fall 
like  lightning  stroke  upon  the  rash  ones,  and  that  would 
end  it.  Catlike  they  had  crouched  and  watched  since 
early  dawn.  Catlike  they  had  played  the  old  game  of 
apparent  weariness  of  the  sport,  of  forgetfulness  of  their 
prey  and  tricked  their  guileless  victims  into  hope  and 
self-exposure,  then  swooped  again,  and  the  gallant  lad 
whose  last  offer  and  effort  had  been  to  set  forth  in  des 
perate  hope  of  bringing  relief  to  the  suffering,  had  paid 
for  his  valor  with  his  life.  One  arrow  at  least  had  gone 
swift  and  true,  one  shaft  that,  launched,  perhaps,  two 
seconds  too  soon  for  entire  success,  had  barely  an 
ticipated  the  leader's  signal  and  spoiled  the  scheme  of 
bagging  all  the  game.  Blakely's  dive  to  save  his  fallen 
comrade  had  just  saved  his  own  head,  for  rock  chips  and 
spattering  lead  flew  on  every  side,  scratching,  but  not  seri 
ously  wounding  him.  • 

And  then,  when  they  "  thought  on  vengeance  "  and  the 
three  brown  muzzles  swept  the  opposite  wall,  there  fol 
lowed  a  moment  of  utter  silence,  broken  only  by  the  faint 
gasping  of  the  dying  man.  "  Creep  back  to  Carmody, 
you,"  muttered  Blakely  to  the  trembling  lad  beside  him. 
"  You  are  of  no  account  here  unless  they  try  to  charge. 
Give  him  water,  quick."  Then  to  Stern,  his  one  unhurt 
man,  "  You  heard  what  he  said  about  distant  firing. 
Did  you  hear  it  ?  " 

"  Not  I,  sir,  but  I  believe  they  did — an'  be  damned  to 


223  AN  APACHE  PRINCESS 

them !  "  And  Stern's  eyes  never  left  the  opposite  cliff, 
though  his  ears  were  strained  to  catch  the  faintest  sound 
from  the  lower  canon.  It  was  there  they  last  had  seen  the 
troop.  It  was  from  that  direction  help  should  come. 
"  Watch  them,  but  don't  waste  a  shot,  man.  I  must  speak 
to  Carmody,"  said  Blakely,  under  his  breath,  as  he  backed 
on  hands  and  knees,  a  painful  process  when  one  is  sore 
wounded.  Trembling,  whimpering  like  whipped  child, 
the  poor,  spiritless  lad  sent  to  the  aid  of  the  stricken  and 
heroic,  crouched  by  the  sergeant's  side,  vainly  striving  to 
pour  water  from  a  clumsy  canteen  between  the  sufferer's 
pallid  lips.  Carmody  presently  sucked  eagerly  at  the 
cooling  water,  and  even  in  his  hour  of  dissolution  seemed 
far  the  stronger,  sturdier  of  the  two — seemed  to  feel  so  in 
finite  a  pity  for  his  shaken  comrade.  Bleeding  internally, 
as  was  evident,  transfixed  by  the  cruel  shaft  they  did  not 
dare  attempt  to  withdraw,  even  if  the  barbed  steel  would 
permit,  and  drooping  fainter  with  each  swift  moment,  he 
was  still  conscious,  still  brave  and  uncomplaining.  His 
dimmed  and  mournful  eyes  looked  up  in  mute  appeal  to 
his  young  commander.  He  knew  that  he  was  going  fast, 
and  that  whatever  rescue  might  come  to  these,  his  surviv 
ing  fellow-soldiers,  there  would  be  none  for  him ;  and  yet 
in  his  supreme  moment  he  seemed  to  read  the  question 
on  Blakely's  lips,  and  his  words,  feeble  and  broken,  were 
framed  to  answer. 

"  Couldn't— you  hear  'em,  lieutenant?  "  he  gasped.  "  I 
can't  be — mistaken.  I  know — the  old — Springfield  sure! 
I  heard  'em  way  off — south — a  dozen  shots,"  and  then  a 


WHERE  IS  ANGELA?  229 

spasm  of  agony  choked  him,  and  he  turned,  writhing,  to 
hide  the  anguish  on  his  face.  Blakely  grasped  the  dying 
soldier's  hand,  already  cold  and  limp  and  nerveless,  and 
then  his  own  voice  seemed,  too,  to  break  and  falter. 

"  Don't  try  to  talk,  Carmody ;  don't  try !     Of  course 
you  are  right.     It  must  be  some  of  our  people.     They'll 
reach  us  soon.     Then  we'll  have  the  doctor  and  can  help 
you.     Those  saddlebags ! "  he  said,  turning  sharply  to 
the  whimpering  creature  kneeling  by  them,  and  the  lad 
drew  hand  across  his  streaming  eyes  and  passed  the  worn 
leather  pouches.     From  one  of  them  Blakely  drew  forth 
a  flask,  poured  some  brandy  into  its  cup  and  held  it  to  the 
soldier's  lips.     Carmody  swallowed  almost  eagerly.     He 
seemed  to  crave  a  little  longer  lease  of  life.     There  was 
something  tugging  at  his  heartstrings,  and  presently  he 
turned  slowly,  painfully  again.     "  Lieutenant,"  he  gasped, 
"  I'm  not  scared  to  die — this  way  anyhow.     There's  no 
one  to  care — but  the  boys — but  there's  one  thing  " — and 
now  the  stimulant  seemed  to  reach  the  failing  heart  and 
give  him  faint,  fluttering  strength — "  there's  one  thing  I 
ought — I  ought  to  tell.    You've  been  solid  with  the  boys 
— you're  square,  and  I'm  not — I  haven't  always  been. 
Lieutenant — I  was  on  guard — the  night  of  the  fire — and 
Elise,  you  know — the  French  girl — she — she's  got  most 
all  I  saved — most  all  I — won,  but  she  was  trickin'  me — 
all  the  time,  lieutenant — me  and  Downs  that's  gone — and 
others.     She  didn't  care.    You — you  aint  the  only  one 

I— I " 

"  Lieutenant ! "  came  in  excited  whisper,  the  voice  of 


230  AN  APACHE  PRINCESS 

Stern,  and  there  at  his  post  in  front  of  the  cave  he  knelt, 
signaling  urgently.     "  Lieutenant,  quick !  " 

"  One  minute,  Carmody !  I've  got  to  go.  Tell  me  a 
little  later."  But  with  dying  strength  Carmody  clung  to 
his  hand. 

"  I  must  tell  you,  lieutenant — now.  It  wasn't 
Downs's  fault.  She — she  made " 

"  Lieutenant,  quick !  for  God's  sake !  They're  com 
ing  !  "  cried  the  voice  of  the  German  soldier  at  the  wall, 
and  wrenching  his  wrist  from  the  clasp  of  the  dying  man, 
Blakely  sprang  recklessly  to  his  feet  and  to  the  mouth  of 
the  cave  just  as  Stern's  carbine  broke  the  stillness  with 
resounding  roar.  Half  a  dozen  rifles  barked  their  instant 
echo  among  the  rocks.  From  up  the  hillside  rose  a  yell 
of  savage  hate  and  another  of  warning.  Then  from  be 
hind  their  curtaining  rocks  half  a  dozen  dusky  forms, 
their  dirty  white  breechclouts  streaming  behind  them, 
sprang  suddenly  into  view  and  darted,  with  goat-like  ease 
and  agility,  zigzagging  up  the  eastward  wall.  It  was  a 
foolish  thing  to  do,  but  Blakely  followed  with  a  wasted 
shot,  aimed  one  handed  from  the  shoulder,  before  he  could 
regain  command  of  his  judgment.  In  thirty  seconds  the 
cliff  was  as  bare  of  Apaches  as  but  the  moment  before  it 
had  been  dotted.  Something,  in  the  moment  when  their 
savage  plans  and  triumph  seemed  secure,  had  happened 
to  alarm  the  entire  party.  With  warning  shouts  and 
signals  they  were  scurrying  out  of  the  deep  ravine,  scat 
tering,  apparently,  northward.  But  even  as  they  fled  to 
higher  ground  there  was  order  and  method  in  their  re- 


WHERE  IS  ANGELA?  231 

treat.     While  several  of  their  number  clambered  up  the 
steep,   an    equal   number   lurked    in   their   covert,    and 
Blakely's  single  shot  was  answered  instantly  by  half  a 
dozen,  the  bullets  striking  and  splashing  on  the  rocks,  the 
arrows  bounding  or  glancing  furiously.     Stern  ducked 
within,  out  of  the  storm.     Blakely,  flattening  like  hunted 
squirrel  close  to  the  parapet,  flung  down  his  empty  carbine 
and  strove  to  reach  another,  lying  loaded  at  the  southward 
loop-hole,  and  at  the  outstretched  hand  there  whizzed  an 
arrow  from  aloft  whose  guiding  feather  fairly  seared  the 
skin,  so  close  came  the  barbed  messenger.     Then  up  the 
height  rang  out  a  shrill  cry,  some  word  of  command  in 
a  voice  that  had  a  familiar  tang  to  it,  and  that  was  almost 
instantly  obeyed,  for,  under  cover  of  sharp,  well-aimed  fire 
from  aloft,  from  the  shelter  of  projecting  rock  or  stranded 
bowlder,  again  there  leaped  into  sight  a  few  scattered, 
sinewy  forms  that  rushed  in  bewildering  zigzag  up  the 
steep,  until  safe  beyond  their  supports,  when  they,  too, 
vanished,  and  again  the  cliff  stood  barren  of  Apache 
foemen  as  the  level  of  the  garrison  parade.     It  was  science 
in  savage  warfare  against  which  the  drill  book  of  the 
cavalry  taught  no  method  whatsoever.     Another  minute 
and  even  the  shots  had  ceased.     One  glimpse  more  had 
Blakely  of  dingy,  trailing  breechclouts,  fluttering  in  the 
breeze  now  stirring  the  fringing  pines  and  cedars,  and  all 
that  was  left  of  the  late  besiegers  came  clattering  down 
the  rocks  in  the  shape  of  an  Indian  shield.     Stern  would 
have  scrambled  out  to  nab  it,  but  was  ordered  down. 
"  Back,  you  idiot,  or  they'll  have  you  next !  "     And  then 


232  AN  APACHE  PRINCESS 

they  heard  the  feeble  voice  of  Wren,  pleading  for  water 
and  demanding  to  be  lifted  to  the  light.  The  uproar  of 
the  final  volley  had  roused  him  from  an  almost  death-like 
stupor,  and  he  lay  staring,  uncomprehending,  at  Carmody, 
whose  glazing  eyes  were  closed,  whose  broken  words  had 
ceased.  The  poor  fellow  was  drifting  away  into  the 
shadows  with  his  story  still  untold. 

"  Watch  here,  Stern,  but  keep  under  cover,"  cried 
Blakely.  "  I'll  see  to  the  captain.  Listen  for  any  shot 
or  sound,  but  hold  your  fire,"  and  then  he  turned  to  his 
barely  conscious  senior  and  spoke  to  him  as  he  would  to 
a  helpless  child.  Again  he  poured  a  little  brandy  in  his 
cup.  Again  he  held  it  to  ashen  lips  and  presently  saw  the 
faint  flutter  of  reviving  strength.  "  Lie  still  just  a  mo 
ment  or  two,  Wren,"  he  murmured  soothingly.  "  Lie 
still.  Somebody's  coming.  The  troop  is  not  far  off. 
You'll  soon  have  help  and  home  _and — Angela  " — even 
then  his  tongue  faltered  at  her  name.  And  Wren  heard 
and  with  eager  eyes  questioned  imploringly.  The  quiv 
ering  lips  repeated  huskily  the  name  of  the  child  he  loved. 
"Angela— where?" 

"  Home— safe— where  you  shall  be  soon,  old  fellow, 
only — brace  up  now.  I  must  speak  one  moment  with 
Carmody,"  and  to  Carmody  eagerly  he  turned.  "You 
were  speaking  of  Elise  and  the  fire — of  Downs,  ser 
geant "  His  words  were  slow  and  clear  and  distinct, 

for  the  soldier  had  drifted  far  away  and  must  be  recalled. 
"  Tell  me  again.    What  was  it  ?  " 

But  only  faint,  swift  gasping  answered  him.     Carmody 


WHERE  IS  ANGELA?  233 

either  heard  not,  or,  hearing,  was  already  past  all  pos 
sibility  of  reply.  "  Speak  to  me,  Carmody.  Tell  me  what 
I  can  do  for  you  ?  "  he  repeated.  "  What  word  to  Elise  ?  " 
He  thought  the  name  might  rouse  him,  and  it  did.  A 
feeble  hand  was  uplifted,  just  an  inch  or  two.  The  eye 
lids  slowly  fluttered,  and  the  dim,  almost  lifeless  eyes 
looked  pathetically  up  into  those  of  the  young  commander. 
There  was  a  moment  of  almost  breathless  silence,  broken 
only  by  a  faint  moan  from  Wren's  tortured  lips  and  the 
childish  whimpering  of  that  other — the  half-crazed,  terror- 
stricken  soldier. 

"  Elise,"  came  the  whisper,  barely  audible,  as  Carmody 
strove  to  lift  his  head,  "  she — promised  " — but  the  head 
sank  back  on  Blakely's  knee.  Stern  was  shouting  at  the 
stone  gate — shouting  and  springing  to  his  feet  and  swing 
ing  his  old  scouting  hat  and  gazing  wildly  down  the  canon. 
"  For  God's  sake  hush,  man !  "  cried  the  lieutenant.  "  I 
must  hear  Carmody."  But  Stern  was  past  further  shout 
ing  now.  Sinking  on  his  knees,  he  was  sobbing  aloud. 
Scrambling  out  into  the  daylight  of  the  opening,  but  still 
shrinking  within  its  shelter,  the  half-crazed,  half-broken 
soldier  stood  stretching  forth  his  arms  and  calling  wild 
words  down  the  echoing  gorge,  where  sounds  of  shouting, 
lusty-lunged,  and  a  ringing  order  or  two,  and  then  the 
clamor  of  carbine  shots,  told  of  the  coming  of  rescue  and 
new  life  and  hope,  and  food  and  friends,  and  still  Blakely 
knelt  and  circled  that  dying  head  with  the  one  arm  left 
him,  and  pleaded  and  besought — even  commanded.  But 
never  again  would  word  or  order  stir  the  soldier's  willing 


234  AN  APACHE  PRINCESS 

pulse.  The  sergeant  and  his  story  had  drifted  together 
beyond  the  veil,  and  Blakely,  slowly  rising,  found  the 
lighted  entrance  swimming  dizzily  about  him,  first  level 
and  then  up-ended;  found  himself  sinking,  whither  he 
neither  knew  nor  cared ;  found  the  canon  filling  with  many 
voices,  the  sound  of  hurrying  feet  and  then  of  many  rush 
ing  waters,  and  then — how  was  it  that  all  was  dark  with 
out  the  cave,  and  lighted — lantern-lighted — here  within? 
They  had  had  no  lantern,  no  candle.  Here  were  both, 
and  here  was  a  familiar  face — old  Heartburn's — bending 

reassuringly  over  Wren,  and  someone  was Why, 

where  was  Carmody?  Gone!  And  but  a  moment  ago 
that  dying  head  was  there  on  his  knee,  and  then  it  was 
daylight,  too,  and  now — why,  it  must  be  after  nightfall, 
else  why  these  lanterns?  And  then  old  Heartburn  came 
bending  over  him  in  turn,  and  then  came  a  rejoiceful 
word: 

"  Hello,  Bugs !  Well,  it  is  high  time  you  woke  up ! 
Here,  take  a  swig  of  this !  " 

Blakely  drank  and  sat  up  presently,  dazed,  and  Heart 
burn  went  on  with  his  cheery  talk.  "  One  of  you  men 
out  there  call  Captain  Stout.  Tell  him  Mr.  Blakely's  up 
and  asking  for  him,"  and,  feeling  presently  a  glow  of 
warmth  coursing  in  his  veins,  the  Bugologist  roused  to  a 
sitting  posture  and  began  to  mumble  questions.  And  then 
a  burly  shadow  appeared  at  the  entrance,  black  against 
the  ruddy  firelight  in  the  canon  without,  where  other 
forms  began  to  appear.  Down  on  his  knee  came  Stout  to 
clasp  his  one  available  hand  and  even  clap  him  on  the  back 


WHERE  IS  ANGELA?  23(5 

and  send  unwelcome  jar  through  his  fevered,  swollen 
arm.  "  Good  boy,  Bugs !  You're  coming  round  fa 
mously.  We'll  start  you  back  to  Sandy  in  the  morning, 
you  and  Wren,  for  nursing,  petting,  and  all  that  sort  of 
thing.  They  are  lashing  the  saplings  now  for  your  litters, 
and  we've  sent  for  Graham,  too,  and  he'll  meet  you  on  the 
the  way,  while  we  shove  on  after  Shield's  people." 

"  Shield— Raven  Shield?"  queried  Blakely,  still  half 
dazed.  "  Shield  was  killed — at  Sandy,"  and  yet  there 
was  the  memory  of  the  voice  he  knew  and  heard  in  this 
very  canon. 

"  Shield,  yes ;  and  now  his  brother  heads  them.  Didn't 
he  send  his  card  down  to  you,  after  the  donicks,  and  be 
damned  to  him  ?  You  foregathered  with  both  of  them  at 
the  agency.  Oh,  they're  all  alike,  Bugs,  once  they're 
started  on  the  warpath.  Now  we  must  get  you  out  into 
the  open  for  a  while.  The  air's  better." 

And  so,  an  hour  later,  his  arm  carefully  dressed  and 
bandaged,  comforted  by  needed  food  and  fragrant  tea  and 
the  news  that  Wren  was  reviving  under  the  doctor's  minis 
trations,  and  would  surely  mend  and  recover,  Blakely  lay 
propped  by  the  fire  and  heard  the  story  of  Stout's  rush 
through  the  wilderness  to  their  succor.  Never  waiting 
for  the  dawn,  after  a  few  hours'  rest  at  Beaver  Spring,  the 
sturdy  doughboys  had  eagerly  followed  their  skilled  and 
trusted  leader  all  the  hours  from  eleven,  stumbling,  but 
never  halting  even  for  rest  or  rations,  and  at  last  had 
found  the  trail  four  miles  below  in  the  depths  of  the  canon. 
There  §ome  scattering  shots  had  met  them,  arrow  and 


236  AN  APACHE  PRINCESS 

rifle  both,  from  up  the  heights,  and  an  effort  was  made  to 
delay  their  progress.  Wearied  and  footsore  though  were 
his  men,  they  had  driven  the  scurrying  foe  from  rock  to 
rock  and  then,  in  a  lull  that  followed,  had  heard  the  dis 
tant  sound  of  firing  that  told  them  whither  to  follow  on. 
Only  one  man,  Stern,  was  able  to  give  them  coherent  word 
or  welcome  when  at  last  they  came,  for  Chalmers  and 
Carmody  lay  dead,  Wren  in  a  stupor,  Blakely  in  a  death 
like  swoon,  and  "  that  poor  chap  yonder  "  loony  and  hys 
terical  as  a  crazy  man.  Thank  God  they  had  not,  as  they 
had  first  intended,  waited  for  the  break  of  day. 

Another  dawn  and  Stout  and  most  of  his  men  had 
pushed  on  after  the  Apaches  and  in  quest  of  the  troop  at 
Sunset  Pass.  By  short  stages  the  soldiers  left  in  charge 
were  to  move  the  wounded  homeward.  By  noon  these 
latter  were  halted  under  the  willows  by  a  little  stream. 
The  guards  were  busy  filling  canteens  and  watering  pack 
mules,  when  the  single  sentry  threw  his  rifle  to  the  posi 
tion  of  "  ready  "  and  the  gun  lock  clicked  loud.  Over  the 
stony  ridge  to  the  west,  full  a  thousand  yards  away,  came 
a  little  band  of  riders  in  single  file,  four  men  in  all.  Wren 
was  sleeping  the  sleep  of  exhaustion.  Blakely,  feverish 
and  excited,  was  wide  awake.  Mercifully  the  former 
never  heard  the  first  question  asked  by  the  leading  rider — 
Arnold,  the  ranchman — as  he  came  jogging  into  the  noon 
day  bivouac.  Stone,  sergeant  commanding,  had  run  for 
ward  to  meet  and  acquaint  him  with  the  condition  of  the 
rescued  men.  "  Got  there  in  time  then,  thank  God !  "  he 
cried,  as  wearily  he  flung  himself  out  of  saddle  and 


WHERE  IS  ANGELA?  237 

glanced  quickly  about  him.  There  lay  Wren,  senseless 
and  still  between  the  lashed  ribs  of  his  litter.  There  lay 
Blakely,  smiling  feebly  and  striving  to  hold  forth  a  wasted 
hand,  but  Arnold  saw  it  not.  Swiftly  his  eyes  flitted  from 
face  to  face,  from  man  to  man,  then  searched  the  little 
knot  of  mules,  sidelined  and  nibbling  at  the  stunted  herb 
age  in  the  glen.  "  I  don't  see  Punch,"  he  faltered.  "  Wh- 
where's  Miss  Angela  ? ' 


CHAPTER  XXI 

OUR    VANISHED    PRINCESS 

THEN  came  a  story  told  in  fierce  and  excited 
whisperings,    Arnold    the    speaker,    prompted 
sometimes  by  his  companions;  Stone,  and  the 
few  soldiers  grouped  about  him,  awe-stricken  and  dis 
mayed.     Blakely  had  started  up  from  his  litter,  his  face 
white  with  an  awful  dread,  listening  in  wordless  agony. 
At  six  the  previous  morning,  loping  easily  out  from 
Sandy,  Arnold's  people  had  reached  the  ranch  and  found 
the  veteran  colonel  with  his  orderlies  impatiently  waiting 
for  them.     These   latter   had   had   abundant   food   and 
coffee  and  the  colonel  was  fuming  with  impatience  to 
move,  but  Arnold's  people  had  started  on  empty  stomachs, 
counting  on  a  hearty  breakfast  at  the  ranch.     Jose  could 
have  it  ready  in  short  order.     So  Byrne,  with  his  men, 
mounted  and  rode  ahead  on  the  trail  of  the  infantry,  say 
ing  the  rest  could  overtake  him  before  he  reached  the 
rocky  and  dangerous  path  over  the  first  range.     For  a  few 
miles  the  Beaver  Valley  was  fairly  wide  and  open.     Not 
twenty  minutes  later,  as  Arnold's  comrades  sat  on  the 
porch  on  the  north  side  of  the  house,  they  heard  swift 
hoof-beats,  and  wondered  who  could  be  coming  now. 
But,  without  an  instant's  pause,  the  rider  had  galloped  by, 
and  one  of  the  men,  hurrying  to  the  corner  of  the  ranch, 

238 


OUR  VANISHED  PRINCESS  239 

was  amazed  to  see  the  lithe,  slender  form  of  Angela  Wren 
speeding  her  pet  pony  like  the  wind  up  the  sandy  trail. 
Arnold  refused  to  believe  at  first,  but  his  eyes  speedily 
told  him  the  same  story.  He  had  barely  a  glimpse  of  her 
before  she  was  out  of  sight  around  a  grove  of  willows  up 
the  stream.  "  Galloping  to  catch  the  colonel,"  said  he, 
and  such  was  his  belief.  Angela,  he  reasoned,  had  has 
tened  after  them  to  send  some  message  of  love  to  her 
wounded  father,  and  had  perhaps  caught  sight  of  the  trio 
far  out  in  the  lead.  Arnold  felt  sure  that  they  would 
meet  her  coming  back,  sure  that  there  was  no  danger  for 
her,  with  Byrne  and  his  fellows  well  out  to  the  front. 
They  finished  their  breakfast,  therefore,  reset  their  saddles, 
mounted  and  rode  for  an  hour  toward  the  Mogollon  and 
still  the  pony  tracks  led  them  on,  overlying  those  of  the 
colonel's  party.  Then  they  got  among  the  rocks  and  only 
at  intervals  found  hoof-prints ;  but,  far  up  along  the  range, 
caught  sight  of  the  three  horsemen,  and  so,  kept  on.  It 
was  after  ten  when  at  last  they  overtook  the  leaders,  and 
then,  to  their  consternation,  Angela  Wren  was  not  with 
them.  They  had  neither  seen  nor  heard  of  her,  and  Byrne 
was  aghast  when  told  that,  alone  and  without  a  guide,  she 
had  ridden  in  among  the  foothills  of  those  desolate,  path 
less  mountains.  "  The  girl  is  mad,"  said  he,  "  and  yet  it's 
like  her  to  seek  to  reach  her  father." 

Instantly  they  divided  forces  to  search  for  her.  Gorges 
and  canons  innumerable  seamed  the  westward  face  of  this 
wild  spur  of  the  Sierras,  and,  by  the  merest  luck  in  the 
world,  one  of  Arnold's  men,  spurring  along  a  stony  ridge, 


240  AN  APACHE  PRINCESS 

caught  sight  of  a  girlish  form  far  across  a  deep  ravine, 
and  quickly  fired  two  shots  in  signal  that  he  had 
"  sighted  "  the  chase.  It  brought  Arnold  and  two  of  his 
men  to  the  spot  and,  threading  their  way,  sometimes  afoot 
and  leading  their  steeds,  sometimes  in  saddle  and  urging 
them  through  the  labyrinth  of  bowlders,  they  followed 
on.  At  noon  they  had  lost  not  only  all  sight  of  her,  but 
of  their  comrades,  nor  had  they  seen  the  latter  since. 
Byrne  and  his  orderlies,  with  three  of  the  party  that 
"  pulled  out "  from  Sandy  with  Arnold  in  the  morning,  had 
disappeared.  Again  and  again  they  fired  their  Henrys, 
hoping  for  answering  signal,  or  perhaps  to  attract  An 
gela's  attention.  All  doubt  as  to  her  purpose  was  now 
ended.  Mad  she  might  be,  but  determined  she  was,  and 
had  deliberately  dodged  past  them  at  the  Beaver,  fearing 
opposition  to  her  project.  At  two,  moreover,  they  found 
that  she  could  "  trail "  as  well  as  they,  for  among  the 
stunted  cedars  at  the  crest  of  a  steep  divide,  they  found 
the  print  of  the  stout  brogans  worn  by  their  infantry  com 
rades,  and,  down  among  the  rocks  of  the  next  ravine, 
crushed  bits  of  hardtack  by  a  "  tank  "  in  the  hillside.  She 
had  stopped  there  long  enough  at  least  to  water  Punch, 
then  pushed  on  again. 

Once  more  they  saw  her,  not  three  miles  ahead  at  four 
o'clock,  just  entering  a  little  clump  of  pines  at  the  top  of 
a  steep  acclivity.  They  fired  their  rifles  and  shouted 
loud  in  hopes  of  halting  her,  but  all  to  no  purpose.  Night 
came  down  and  compelled  them  to  bivouac.  They  built  a 
big  fire  to  guide  the  wanderers,  but  morning  broke  with- 


OUR  VANISHED  PRINCESS  241 

out  sign  of  them ;  so  on  they  went,  for  now,  away  from  the 
rocks  the  trail  was  often  distinct,  and  once  again  they 
found  the  pony  hoof-prints  and  thanked  God.  At  seven 
by  Arnold's  watch,  among  the  breaks  across  a  steep  divide 
they  found  another  tank,  more  crumbs,  a  grain  sack  with 
some  scattered  barley,  more  hardtack  and  the  last  trace  of 
Angela.  Arnold's  hand  shook,  as  did  his  voice,  as  he  drew 
forth  a  little  fluttering  ribbon— the  "  snood  "  poor  Wren 
so  loved  to  see  binding  his  child's  luxuriant  hair. 

They  reasoned  she  had  stopped  here  to  feed  and  water 
her  pony,  and  had  probably  bathed  her  face  and  flung 
loose  her  hair  and  forgotten  later  the  binding  ribbon. 
They  believed  she  had  followed  on  after  Stout's  hard- 
marching  company.  It  was  easy  to  trail.  They  counted 
on  finding  her  when  they  found  her  father,  and  now  here 
lay  Wren  unconscious  of  her  loss,  and  Blakely,  realizing 
it  all — cruelly,  feverishly  realizing  it — yet  so  weakened  by 
his  wounds  as  to  be  almost  powerless  to  march  or  mount 
and  go  in  search  of  her. 

No  question  now  as  to  the  duty  immediately  before 
them.  In  twenty  minutes  the  pack  mules  were  again 
strapped  between  the  saplings,  the  little  command  was 
slowly  climbing  toward  the  westward  heights,  with  Arnold 
and  two  of  his  friends  scouting  the  rough  trail  and  hill 
sides,  firing  at  long  intervals  and  listening  in  suspense  al 
most  intolerable  for  some  answering  signal.  The  other 
of  their  number  had  volunteered  to  follow  Stout  over  the 
plateau  toward  the  Pass  and  acquaint  him  with  the  latest 
news. 


242  AN  APACHE  PRINCESS 

While  the  sun  was  still  high  in  the  heavens,  far  to  the 
northward,  they  faintly  heard  or  thought  they  heard  two 
rifle  shots.  At  four  o'clock,  as  they  toiled  through  a 
tangle  of  rock  and  stunted  pine,  Arnold,  riding  well  to 
the  front,  came  suddenly  out  upon  a  bare  ledge  from  which 
he  could  look  over  a  wild,  wide  sweep  of  mountain  side, 
stretching  leagues  to  north  and  south,  and  there  his 
keen  and  practiced  eye  was  greeted  by  a  sight  that  thrilled 
him  with  dread  unspeakable.  Dread,  not  for  himself  or 
his  convoy  of  wounded,  but  dread  for  Angela.  Jutting, 
from  the  dark  fringe  of  pines  along  a  projecting  bluff, 
perhaps  four  miles  away,  little  puffs  or  clouds  of  smoke, 
each  separate  and  distinct,  were  sailing  straight  aloft  in 
the  pulseless  air — Indian  signals  beyond  possibility  of 
doubt.  Some  Apaches,  then,  were  still  hovering  about 
the  range  overlooking  the  broad  valley  of  the  Sandy,  some 
of  the  bands  then  were  prowling  in  the  mountains  between 
the  scouting  troops  and  the  garrisoned  post.  Some  must 
have  been  watching  this  very  trail,  in  hopes  of  intercept 
ing  couriers  or  stragglers,  some  must  have  seen  and  seized 
poor  Angela. 

He  had  sprung  from  saddle  and  leveled  his  old  field 
glass  at  the  distant  promontory,  so  absorbed  in  his  search 
he  did  not  note  the  coming  of  the  little  column.  The 
litter  bearing  Blakely  foremost  of  the  four  had  halted 
close  beside  him,  and  Blakely's  voice,  weak  and  strained, 
yet  commanding,  suddenly  startled  him  with  demand  to 
be  told  what  he  saw,  and  Arnold  merely  handed  him  the 
glass  and  pointed.  The  last  of  the  faint  smoke  puffs  was 


SIGXALS  JJETONX*  POSSIBILITY  OF  A 


OUR  VANISHED  PRINCESS  243 

just  soaring  into  space,  making  four  still  in  sight. 
Blakely  never  even  took  the  binocular.  He  had  seen 
enough  by  the  unaided  eye. 

With  uplifted  hand  the  sergeant  had  checked  the  com 
ing  of  the  next  litter,  Wren's,  and  those  that  followed  it. 
One  of  the  wounded  men,  the  poor  lad  crazed  by  the  perils 
of  the  siege,  was  alert  and  begging  for  more  water,  but 
Wren  was  happily  lost  to  the  world  in  swoon  or  slumber. 
To  the  soldier  bending  over  him  he  seemed  scarcely 
breathing.  Presently  they  were  joined  by  two  of  Arnold's 
party  who  had  been  searching  out  on  the  left  flank.  They, 
too,  had  seen,  and  the  three  were  now  in  low-toned 
conference.  Blakely  for  the  moment  was  unnoted,  for 
gotten. 

"  That  tank — where  we  found  the  ribbon — was  just 
about  two  miles  yonder,"  said  Arnold,  pointing  well  down 
the  rugged  slope  toward  the  southwest,  where  other  rocky, 
pine-fringed  heights  barred  the  view  to  the  distant  Sandy. 
"  Surely  the  colonel  or  some  of  his  fellows  must  be,  along 
here.  Ride  ahead  a  hundred  yards  or  so  and  fire  a  couple 
of  shots,"  this  to  one  of  his  men,  who  silently  reined  his 
tired  bronco  into  the  rude  trail  among  the  pine  cones  and 
disappeared.  The  others  waited.  Presently  came  the 
half-smothered  sound  of  a  shot  and  a  half-stifled  cry  from 
the  rearmost  litter.  Every  such  shock  meant  new  terror 
to  that  poor  lad,  but  Wren  never  stirred.  Half  a  minute 
passed  without  another  sound  than  faint  and  distant  echo ; 
then  faint,  and  not  so  distant,  came  another  sound,  a  pro 
longed  shout,  and  presently  another,  and'then  a  horseman 


244  A\  APACHK 

hove  in  sight  among  the  trees  across  a  nearly  mile-wide 
dip.  Arnold  and  his  friends  rode  on  to  meet  him.  leaving 
the  litters  at  the  crest.  In  five  minutes  one  of  the  riders 
reappeared  and  called:  "  It's  Horn,  of  the  orderlies.  He 
reports  Colonel  P.yrne  just  ahead.  Come  on!"  and 
turning,  dove  hack  down  the  twisted  trail. 

The  colonel  might  have  hecn  just  ahead  when  last  seen, 
but  when  they  reached  the  tank  he  was  far  aloft  again, 
scouting  from  another  height  to  the  northward,  and 
while  the  orderly  went  on  to  find  and  tell  him.  Arnold  and 
his  grave-faced  comrade  dismounted  there  to  await  the 
coming  of  the  litters.  Graver  were  the  faces  even  than 
before.  The  news  that  had  met  them  was  most  ominous. 
Two  of  those  who  searched  with  Colonel  Pvrne  had  found 
pony  tracks  leading  northward  leading  in  the  very  di 
rection  in  which  they  had  seen  the  smoke.  There  was  no 
other  pony  shoe  in  the  Sandy  valley.  It  could  be  none 
other  than  Angela's  little  friend  and  comrade — Punch. 

Ami  this  news  they  told  to  Ulakely  as  the  foremost  lit 
ter  came.  He  listened  with  hardly  a  word  of  comment; 
then  asked  for  his  scouting  notebook.  He  was  sitting  up 
now.  They  helped  him  from  his  springy  couch  to  a  seat 
on  the  rocks,  and  gave  him  a  cup  of  the  cold  water.  One 
by  one  the  other  litters  were  led  into  the  little  amphitheater 
and  unlashed.  F.vervone  seemed  to  know  that  here  must 
be  the  bivouac  for  the  night,  their  abiding  place  for  an 
other  day.  perhaps,  unless  they  should  hud  the  captain's 
daughter.  They  spoke,  when  they  spoke  at  all.  in  muffled 
tones,  these  rough,  war-worn  men  of  the  desert  and  the 


DTK   VANISHED  PRIMJ>-  245 

mountain.  They  bent  over  the  wounded  with  sorrowing 
eyes,  and  wondered  why  no  surgeon  had  come  out  to 
meet  them.  Heartburn,  of  course,  had  done  his  best, 
dressing  and  rebandaging  the  wounds  at  dawn,  but  then 
he  had  to  go  on  with  Stout  and  the  company,  while  one 
of  the  Apache  Yumas  was  ordered  to  dodge  his  way  in 
to  Sandy,  with  a  letter  urging  that  Graham  be  sent  out  to 
follow  the  trail  and  meet  the  returning  party. 

Meanwhile  the  sun  had  dropped  behind  the  westward 
heights ;  the  night  would  soon  be  coming  down,  chill  and 
overcast.  Byrne  was  still  away,  but  he  couldn't  miss  the 
tank,  said  one  of  the  troopers  who  had  ridden  with  him. 
Twice  during  the  morning  they  had  all  met  there  and 
then  gone  forth  again,  searching — searching.  Punch's 
little  hoof-tracks,  cutting  through  a  sandy  bit  in  the  north 
ward  ravine,  had  drawn  them  all  that  way,  but  nothing 
further  had  been  found.  His  horse,  too,  said  the  orderly, 
was  lame  and  failing,  so  he  had  been  bidden  to  wait  by 
the  water  and  watch  for  couriers  either  from  the  front 
or  out  from  the  post.  Byrne  was  one  of  those  never- 
give-up  men,  and  they  all  knew  him. 

Barley  was  served  out  to  the  animals,  a  little  fire 
lighted,  lookouts  were  stationed,  and  presently  their  sol 
dier  supper  was  ready,  and  still  Blakely  said  nothing. 
He  had  written  three  notes  or  letters,  one  of  which  seemed 
to  give  him  no  little  trouble,  for  one  after  another  he 
thrust  two  leaves  into  the  fire  and  started  afresh.  At 
length  they  were  ready,  and  he  signaled  to  Arnold. 
"  You  can  count,  I  think,  on  Graham's  getting  here. 


246  AN  APACHE  PRINCESS 

within  a  few  hours,"  said  he.  "  Meantime  you're  as  good 
a  surgeon  as  I  need.  Help  me  on  with  this  sling."  And 
still  they  did  not  fathom  his  purpose.  He  was  deathly 
pale,  and  his  eyes  were  eloquent  of  dread  unspeakable, 
but  he  seemed  to  have  forgotten  pain,  fever,  and  prostra 
tion.  Arnold,  in  the  silent  admiration  of  the  frontier, 
untied  the  support,  unloosed  the  bandages,  and  together 
they  redressed  the  ugly  wound.  Then  presently  the  Bug- 
ologist  stood  feebly  upon  his  feet  and  looked  about  him. 
It  was  growing  darker,  and  not  another  sound  had  come 
from  Byrne. 

"  Start  one  of  your  men  into  Sandy  at  once,"  said 
Blakely,  to  the  sergeant,  and  handed  him  a  letter  ad 
dressed  to  Major  Plume.  "  He  will  probably  meet  the 
doctor  before  reaching  the  Beaver.  These  other  two  I'll 
tell  you  what  to  do  with  later.  Now,  who  has  the  best 
horse?" 

Arnold  stared.  Sergeant  Stone  quickly  turned  and 
saluted.  "  The  lieutenant  is  not  thinking  of  mounting,  I 
hope,"  said  he. 

Blakely  did  not  even  answer.  He  was  studying  the 
orderly's  bay.  Stiff  and  a  little  lame  he  might  be,  but,  re 
freshed  and  strengthened  by  abundant  barley,  he  was  a 
better  weight-carrier  than  the  other,  and  Blakely  had 
weight.  "  Saddle  your  horse,  Horn,"  said  he,  "  and 
fasten  on  those  saddle-bags  of  mine." 

"  But,  lieutenant,"  ventured  Arnold,  "  you  are  in  no 
shape  to  ride  anything  but  that  litter.  Whatever  you 
think  of  doing,  let  me  do." 


OUR  VANISHED  PRINCESS  247 

"  What  I  am  thinking  of  doing  nobody  else  can  do," 
said  Blakely.  "  What  you  can  do  is,  keep  these  two  let 
ters  till  I  call  for  them.  If  at  the  end  of  a  week  I  fail  to 
call,  deliver  them  as  addressed  and  to  nobody  else.  Now, 
before  dark  I  must  reach  that  point  younder,"  and  he  in 
dicated  the  spot  where  in  the  blaze  of  the  westering  sun 
a  mass  of  rock  towered  high  above  the  fringing  pine  and 
mournful  shadows  at  its  base,  a  glistening  landmark 
above  the  general  gloom  at  the  lower  level  and  at  that 
hour  of  the  afternoon.  "  Now,"  he  added  quietly,  "  you 
can  help  me  into  saddle." 

'*'  But  for  God's  sake,  lieutenant,  let  some  of  us  ride 
with  you,"  pleaded  Arnold.  "  If  Colonel  Byrne  was  here 
he'd  never  let  you  go." 

"  Colonel  Byrne  is  not  here,  and  I  command,  I  believe," 
was  the  brief,  uncompromising  answer.  "  And  no  man 
rides  with  me  because,  with  another  man,  I'd  never  find 
what  I'm  in  search  of."  For  a  moment  he  bent  over 
Wren,  a  world  of  wordless  care,  dread,  and  yet  determina 
tion  in  his  pale  face.  Arnold  saw  his  wearied  eyes  close 
a  moment,  his  lips  move  as  though  in  petition,  then  he 
suddenly  turned.  "  Let  me  have  that  ribbon,"  said  he 
bluntly,  and  without  a  word  Arnold  surrendered  it.  Stone 
held  the  reluctant  horse,  Arnold  helped  the  wounded  sol 
dier  into  the  saddle.  "  Don't  worry  about  me — any  of 
you,"  said  Blakely,  in  brief  farewell.  "  Good-night,"  and 
with  that  he  rode  away. 

Arnold  and  the  men  stood  gazing  after  him.  "  Grit 
clean  through,"  said  the  ranchman,  through  his  set  teeth, 


248  AN  APACHE  PRINCESS 

for  a  light  was  dawning  on  him,  as  he  pondered  over 
Blakely's  words.  "  May  the  Lord  grant  I  don't  have  to 
deliver  these ! "  Then  he  looked  at  the  superscriptions. 
One  letter  was  addressed  to  Captain,  or  Miss  Janet,  Wren 
—the  other  to  Mrs.  Plume. 


CHAPTER  XXII 

SUSPENSE 

SANDY  again.  Four  of  the  days  stipulated  by 
Lieutenant  Blakely  had  run  their  course.  The 
fifth  was  ushered  in,  and  from  the  moment  he  rode 
away  from  the  bivouac  at  the  tanks  no  word  had  come 
from  the  Bugologist,  no  further  trace  of  Angela.  In  all 
its  history  the  garrison  had  known  no  gloom  like  this. 
The  hospital  was  filled  with  wounded.  An  extra  sur 
geon  and  attendants  had  come  down  from  Prescott,  but 
Graham  was  sturdily  in  charge.  Of  his  several  patients 
Wren  probably  was  now  causing  him  the  sorest  anxiety, 
for  the  captain  had  been  grievously  wounded  and  was 
pitiably  weak.  Now,  when  aroused  at  times  from  the  las 
situde  and  despond  in  which  he  lay,  Wren  would  persist 
in  asking  for  Angela,  and,  not  daring  to  tell  him  the 
truth,  Janet,  Calvinist  that  she  was  to  the  very  core,  had 
to  do  fearful  violence  to  her  feelings  and  lie.  By  the  ad 
vice  of  bluff  old  Byrne  and  the  active  connivance  of  the 
post  commander,  they  had  actually,  these  stern  Scotch 
Presbyterians,  settled  on  this  as  the  deception  to  be  prac 
ticed — that  Angela  had  been  drooping  so  sadly  from  anx 
iety  and  dread  she  had  been  taken  quite  ill,  and  Dr.  Gra 
ham  had  declared  she  must  be  sent  up  to  Prescott,  or  some 
equally  high  mountain  resort,  there  to  rest  and  recuperate. 


250  AN  APACHE  PRINCESS 

She  was  in  good  hands,  said  these  arch-conspirators. 
She  might  be  coming  home  any  day.  As  for  the  troop 
and  the  campaign,  he  mustn't  talk  or  worry  or  think  about 
them.  The  general,  with  his  big  field  columns,  had  had 
no  personal  contact  with  the  Indians.  They  had  scattered 
before  him  into  the  wild  country  toward  the  great  Colo 
rado,  where  Stout,  with  his  hickory-built  footmen,  and 
Brewster,  with  most  of  Wren's  troop,  were  stirring  up 
Apaches  night  and  day,  while  Sanders  and  others  were 
steadily  driving  on  toward  the  old  Wingate  road.  Stout 
had  found  Brewster  beleaguered,  but  safe  and  sound, 
with  no  more  men  killed  and  few  seriously  wounded.  They 
had  communicated  with  Sanders's  side  scouts,  and  were 
finding  and  following  fresh  trails  with  every  day,  when 
Stout  was  surprised  to  receive  orders  to  drop  pursuit  and 
start  with  Brewster's  fellows  and  to  scout  the  west  face  of 
the  mountains  from  the  Beaver  to  the  heights  opposite 
the  old  Indian  reservation.  There  was  a  stirring  scene  at 
bivouac  when  that  order  came,  and  with  it  the  explana 
tion  that  Angela  Wren  had  vanished  and  was  probably 
captured;  that  Blakely  had  followed  and  was  probably 
killed.  "  They  might  shoot  Blakely  in  fair  fight,"  said 
Stout,  who  knew  him,  and  knew  the  veneration  that  lived 
for  him  in  the  hearts  of  the  Indian  leaders,  "  but  they  at 
least  would  never  butcher  him  in  cold  blood.  Their  un 
restrained  young  men  might  do  it."  Stout's  awful  dread, 
like  that  of  every  man  and  woman  at  Sandy,  and  every 
soldier  in  the  field,  was  for  Angela.  The  news,  too,  had 
been  rushed  to  the  general,  and  his  orders  were  instant. 


SUSPENSE  251 

"  Find  the  chiefs  in  the  field,"  said  he  to  his  interpreter 
and  guide.  "  Find  Shield's  people,  and  say  that  if  a  hair 
of  her  head  is  injured  I  shall  hunt  them  down,  braves, 
women,  and  children — I  shall  hunt  them  anyhow  until 
they  surrender  her  unharmed." 

But  the  Apaches  were  used  to  being  hunted,  and  some 
of  them  really  liked  the  game.  It  was  full  of  exhilara 
tion  and  excitement,  and  not  a  few  chances  to  hunt  and 
hit  back.  The  threat  conveyed  no  terror  to  the  renegades. 
It  was  to  the  Indians  at  the  reservation  that  the  tidings 
brought  dismay,  yet  even  there,  so  said  young  Bridger, 
leaders  and  followers  swore  they  had  no  idea  where  the 
white  maiden  could  be,  much  less  the  young  chief.  They, 
the  peaceable  and  the  poor  servants  of  the  great  Father 
at  Washington,  had  no  dealings  with  these  others,  his 
foes. 

About  the  post,  where  gloom  and  dread  unspeakable 
prevailed,  there  was  no  longer  the  fear  of  possible  at 
tack.  The  Indian  prisoners  in  the  guard-house  had 
dropped  their  truculent,  defiant  manner,  and  become  again 
sullen  and  apathetic.  The  down-stream  settlers  had  re 
turned  to  their  ranches  and  reported  things  undisturbed. 
Even  the  horse  that  had  been  missing  and  charged  to 
Downs  had  been  accounted  for.  They  found  him  graz 
ing  placidly  about  the  old  pasture,  with  the  rope  halter 
trailing,  Indian-knotted,  from  his  neck,  and  his  gray  hide 
still  showing  stains  of  blood  about  the  mane  and  withers. 
They  wondered  was  it  on  this  old  stager  the  Apaches  had 
borne  the  wounded  girl  to  the  garrison — she  who  still  lay 


262  AN  APACHE  PRINCESS 

under  the  roof  of  Mother  Shaughnessy,  timidly  visited  at 
times  by  big-eyed,  shy  little  Indian  maids  from  the  reser 
vation,  who  would  speak  no  word  that  Sudsville  could  un 
derstand,  and  few  that  even  Wales  Arnold  could  interpret. 
All  they  would  or  could  divulge  was  that  she  was  the 
daughter  of  old  Eskiminzin,  who  was  out  in  the  moun 
tains,  and  that  she  had  been  wounded  "  over  there,"  and 
they  pointed  eastward.  By  whom  and  under  what  circum 
stances  they  swore  they  knew  not,  much  less  did  they 
know  of  Downs,  or  of  how  she  chanced  to  have  the  scarf 
once  worn  by  the  Frenchwoman  Elise. 

Then  Arnold's  wife  and  brood  had  gone  back  to  their 
home  up  the  Beaver,  while  he  himself  returned  to  the 
search  for  Angela  and  for  Blakely.  But  those  four  days 
had  passed  without  a  word  of  hope.  In  little  squads  a 
dozen  parties  were  scouring  the  rugged  canons  and  cliffs 
for  signs,  and  finding  nothing.  Hours  each  day  Plume 
would  come  to  the  watchers  on  the  bluff  to  ask  if  no 
courier  had  been  sighted.  Hours  each  night  the  sentries 
strained  their  eyes  for  signal  fires.  Graham,  slaving  with 
his  sick  and  wounded,  saw  how  haggard  and  worn  the 
commander  was  growing,  and  spoke  a  word  of  caution. 
Something  told  him  it  was  not  all  on  account  of  those 
woeful  conditions  at  the  front.  From  several  sources 
came  the  word  that  Mrs.  Plume  was  in  a  state  bordering 
on  hysteric  at  department  headquarters,  where  sympa 
thetic  women  strove  vainly  to  comfort  and  soothe  her. 
It  was  then  that  Elise  became  a  center  of  interest,  for 
Elise  was  snapping  with  electric  force  and  energy.  "  It 


SUSPENSE  253 

is  that  they  will  assassinate  madame — these  monsters," 
she  declared.  "  It  is  imperative,  it  is  of  absolute  need, 
that  madame  be  taken  to  the  sea,  and  these  wretches,  un 
feeling,  they  forbid  her  to  depart."  Madame  herself,  it 
would  seem,  so  said  those  who  had  speech  with  her,  de 
clared  she  longed  to  be  again  with  her  husband  at  Sandy. 
Then  it  was  Elise  who  demanded  that  they  should  move. 
Elise  was  mad  to  go — Elise,  who  took  a  turn  of  her  own, 
a  screaming  fit,  when  the  news  came  of  the  relief  of 
Wren's  little  force,  of  the  death  of  their  brave  sergeant,  of 
the  strange  tale  that,  before  dying,  Carmody  had  breathed 
a  confession  to  Lieutenant  Blakely,  which  Blakely  had  re 
duced  to  writing  before  he  set  forth  on  his  own  hapless 
mission.  It  was  Mrs.  Plume's  turn  now  to  have  to  play 
nurse  and  comforter,  and  to  strive  to  soothe,  even  to  the 
extent  of  promising  that  Elise  should  be  permitted  to 
start  by  the  very  next  stage  to  the  distant  sea,  but  when 
it  came  to  securing  passage,  and  in  feverish,  nervous 
haste  the  Frenchwoman  had  packed  her  chosen  belong 
ings  into  the  one  little  trunk  the  stage  people  would  con 
sent  to  carry,  lo!  there  came  to  her  a  messenger  from 
headquarters  where  Colonel  Byrne,  grim,  silent,  saturnine, 
was  again  in  charge.  Any  attempt  on  her  part  to  leave 
would  result  in  her  being  turned  over  at  once  to  the  civil 
authorities,  and  Elise  understood  and  raved,  but  risked 
not  going  to  jail.  Mullins,  nursed  by  his  devoted  Norah, 
was  sitting  up  each  day  now,  and  had  been  seen  by  Colo 
nel  Byrne  as  that  veteran  passed  through,  ten  pounds 
lighter  of  frame  and  heavier  of  heart  than  when  he  set 


254  AN  APACHE  PRINCESS 

forth,  and  Mullins  had  persisted  in  the  story  that  he  had 
been  set  upon  and  stabbed  by  two  women  opposite  Lieu 
tenant  Blakely's  quarters.  What  two  had  been  seen  out 
there  that  night  but  Clarice  Plume  and  her  Gallic  shadow, 
Elise? 

Meantime  Aunt  Janet  was  "  looking  ghastly,"  said  the 
ladies  along  that  somber  line  of  quarters,  and  something 
really  ought  to  be  done.  Just  what  that  something  should 
be  no  two  could  unite  in  deciding,  but  really  Major  Plume 
or  Dr.  Graham  ought  to  see  that,  if  something  wasn't  done, 
she  would  break  down  under  the  awful  strain.  She  had 
grown  ten  years  older  in  five  days,  they  declared — was 
turning  fearfully  gray,  and  they  were  sure  she  never  slept 
a  wink.  Spoken  to  on  this  score,  poor  Miss  Wren  was 
understood  to  say  she  not  only  could  not  sleep,  but  she 
did  not  wish  to.  Had  she  kept  awake  and  watched  An 
gela,  as  was  her  duty,  the  child  could  never  have  suc 
ceeded  in  her  wild  escapade.  The  "  child,"  by  the  way, 
had  displayed  rare  generalship,  as  speedily  became  known. 
She  must  have  made  her  few  preparations  without  a  be 
traying  sound,  for  even  Kate  Sanders,  in  the  same  room, 
was  never  aroused — Kate,  who  was  now  well-night  heart 
broken.  They  found  that  Angela  had  crept  downstairs 
in  her  stockings,  and  had  put  on  her  riding  moccasins 
and  leggings  at  the  kitchen  steps.  There,  in  the  sand, 
were  the  tracks  of  her  long,  slender  feet.  They  found 
that  she  had  taken  with  her  a  roomy  hunting-pouch  that 
hung  usually  in  her  father's  den.  She  had  filled  it,  ap 
parently,  with  food, — tea,  sugar,  even  lemons,  for  half  a 


SUSPENSE  255 

dozen  of  this  precious  and  hoarded  fruit  had  disappeared. 
Punch,  too,  had  been  provided  for.  She  had  "  packed  " 
a  half-bushel  of  barley  from  the  stables.  There  was  no 
one  to  say  Miss  Angela  nay.  She  might  have  ridden  off 
with  the  flag  itself  and  no  sentry  would  more  than  think 
of  stopping  her.  Just  what  fate  had  befallen  her  no  one 
dare  suggest.  The  one  thing,  the  only  one,  that  roused 
a  vestige  of  hope  was  that  Lieutenant  Blakely  had  gone 
alone  on  what  was  thought  to  be  her  trail. 

Now  here  was  a  curious  condition  of  things.  If  any 
one  had  been  asked  to  name  the  most  popular  officer  at 
Sandy,  there  would  have  been  no  end  of  discussion.  Per 
haps  the  choice  would  have  lain  between  Sanders,  Cutler, 
and  old  Westervelt — good  and  genial  men.  Asked  to 
name  the  least  popular  officer,  and,  though  men,  and 
women,  too,  would  have  shrunk  from  saying  it,  the  name 
that  would  have  occurred  to  almost  all  was  that  of 
Blakely.  And  why?  Simply  because  he  stood  alone, 
self-poised,  self-reliant,  said  his  few  friends,  "  self-cen 
tered  and  selfish"  said  more  than  Mrs.  Bridger,  whereas 
a  more  generous  man  had  never  served  at  Sandy.  That, 
however,  they  had  yet  to  learn.  But  when  a  man  goes 
his  way  in  the  world,  meddling  with  no  one  else's  busi 
ness,  and  never  mentioning  his  own,  courteous  and  civil, 
but  never  intimate,  studying  a  good  deal  but  saying  little, 
asking  no  favors  and  granting  few,  perhaps  because  sel 
dom  asked,  the  chances  are  he  will  win  the  name  of  being 
cold,  indifferent,  even  repellent,  "  too  high,  mighty,  and 
superior."  His  very  virtues  become  a  fault,  for  men  and 


256  AN  APACHE  PRINCESS 

women  love  best  those  who  are  human  like  themselves, 
however  they  may  respect.  Among  the  troopers  Blakely 
was  as  yet  something  of  an  enigma.  His  manner  of 
speaking  to  them  was  unlike  that  of  most  of  his  fellows — it 
was  grave,  courteous,  dignified,  never  petulant  or  irritable. 
In  those  old  cavalry  days  most  men  better  fancied  some 
thing  more  demonstrative.  "  I  like  to  see  an  officer  flare 
up  and — say  things,"  said  a  veteran  sergeant.  "  This 
here  bug-catcher  is  too  damned  cold-blooded."  They  re 
spected  him,  yes ;  yet  they  little  understood  and  less  loved 
him.  They  had  known  him  too  short  a  time. 

But  among  the  Indians  Blakely  was  a  demi-god. 
Grave,  unruffled,  scrupulously  exact  in  word  and  deed, 
he  made  them  trust  him.  Brave,  calm,  quick  in  moments 
of  peril,  he  made  them  admire  him.  How  fearlessly  he 
had  stepped  into  the  midst  of  that  half-frenzied  sextette, 
tiswin  drunk,  and  disarmed  Kwonagietah  and  two  of  his 
fellow-revelers!  How  instant  had  been  his  punishment 
of  that  raging,  rampant,  mutinous  old  medicine  man, 
'Skiminzin,  who  dared  to  threaten  him  and  the  agency! 
(That  episode  only  long  years  after  reached  the  ears  of 
the  Indian  Advancement  Association  in  the  imaginative 
East.)  How  gently  and  skillfully  he  had  ministered  to 
Shield's  younger  brother,  and  to  the  children  of  old  Chief 
Toyah !  It  was  this,  in  fact,  that  won  the  hate  and  envy 
of  'Skiminzin.  How  lavish  was  Blakely's  bounty  to  the 
aged  and  to  the  little  ones,  and  Indians  love  their  children 
infinitely !  The  hatred  or  distrust  of  Indian  man  or  woman, 
once  incurred,  is  venomous  and  lasting.  The  trust,  above 


SUSPENSE 

all  the  gratitude,  of  the  wild  race,  once  fairly  won,  is  to 
the  full  as  stable.  Nothing  will  shake  it.  There  are 
those  who  say  the  love  of  an  Indian  girl,  once  given,  sur 
passes  that  of  her  Circassian  sister,  and  Bridger  now  was 
learning  new  stories  of  the  Bugologist  with  every  day  of 
his  progress  in  Apache  lore.  He  had  even  dared  to  bid 
his  impulsive  little  wife  "  go  slow,"  should  she  ever  again 
be  tempted  to  say  spiteful  things  of  Blakely.  "  If  what 
old  Toyah  tells  me  is  true,"  said  he,  "  and  I  believe  him, 
Hualpai  or  Apache  Mohave,  there  isn't  a  decent  Indian  in 
this  part  of  Arizona  that  wouldn't  give  his  own  scalp  to 
save  Blakely."  Mrs.  Bridger  did  not  tell  this  at  the 
time,  for  she  had  said  too  much  the  other  way;  but,  on 
this  fifth  day  of  our  hero's  absence,  there  came  tidings 
that  unloosed  her  lips. 

Just  at  sunset  an  Indian  runner  rode  in  on  one  of  Ar 
nold's  horses,  and  bearing  a  dispatch  for  Major  Plume. 
It  was  from  that  sturdy  campaigner,  Captain  Stout,  who 
knew  every  mile  of  the  old  trail  through  Sunset  Pass  long 
years  before  even  the  — th  Cavalry, — the  predecessors  of 
Plume,  and  Wren,  and  Sanders, — and  what  Stout  said  no 
man  along  the  Sandy  ever  bade  him  swear  to. 

"  Surprised  small  band,  Tontos,  at  dawn  to-day.  They  had 
saddle  blanket  marked  '  W.  A.'  [Wales  Arnold],  and  hat  and  un 
derclothing  marked  '  Downs.'  Indian  boy  prisoner  says  Downs 
was  caught  just  after  the  '  big  burning  '  at  Camp  Sandy  [Lieu 
tenant  Blakely's  quarters].  He  says  that  Alchisay,  Blakely's  boy 
courier,  was  with  them  two  days  before,  and  told  him  Apache 
Mohaves  had  more  of  Downs's  things,  and  that  a  white  chief's 
daughter  was  over  there  in  the  Red  Rocks.  Sanders,  with  three 
troops,  is  east  of  us  and  searching  that  way  now.  This  boy  says 


2o8  AN  APACHE  PRINCESS 

Alchisay  knew  that  Natzie  and  Lola  had  been  hiding  not  far  from 
Willow  Tank  on  the  Beaver  trail — our  route — but  had  fled  from 
there  same  time  Angela  disappeared.  Against  her  own  people 
Natzie  would  protect  Blakely,  even  were  they  demanding  his  life 
in  turn  for  her  Indian  lover,  Shield's.  If  these  girls  can  be 
tracked  and  found,  I  believe  you  will  have  found  Blakely  and 
will  find  Angela." 

That  night,  after  being  fed  and  comforted  until  even 
an  Indian  could  eat  no  more,  the  messenger,  a  young 
Apache  Mohave,  wanted  papel  to  go  to  the  agency,  but 
Plume  had  other  plans.  "  Take  him  down  to  Shaugh- 
nessy's,"  said  he  to  Truman,  "  and  see  if  he  knows  that 
girl."  So  take  him  they  did,  and  at  sight  of  his  swarthy 
face  the  girl  had  given  a  low  cry  of  sudden,  eager  joy; 
then,  as  though  reading  warning  in  his  glance,  turned  her 
face  away  and  would  not  talk.  It  was  the  play  of  almost 
every  Apache  to  understand  no  English  whatever,  yet 
Truman  could  have  sworn  she  understood  when  he  asked 
her  if  she  could  guess  where  Angela  was  in  hiding.  The 
Indian  lad  had  shaken  his  head  and  declared  he  knew 
nothing.  The  girl  was  dumb.  Mrs.  Bridger  happened 
in  a  moment  later,  coming  down  with  Mrs.  Sanders  to 
see  how  the  strange  patient  was  progressing.  They  stood 
in  silence  a  moment,  listening  to  Truman's  murmured 
words.  Then  Mrs.  Bridger  suddenly  spoke.  "Ask  her 
if  she  knows  Natzie's  cave,"  said  she.  "  Natzie's  cave," 
she  repeated,  with  emphasis,  and  the  Indian  girl  guile 
lessly  shook  her  head,  and  then  turned  and  covered  her 
face  with  her  hands. 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

AN  APACHE  QUEEN 

IN  the  slant  of  the  evening  sunshine  a  young  girl,  an 
Indian,  was  crouching  among  the  bare  rocks  at  the 
edge  of  a  steep  and  rugged  descent.  One  tawny 
little  hand,  shapely  in  spite  of  scratches,  was  uplifted  to 
her  brows,  shading  her  keen  and  restless  eyes  against  the 
glare.  In  the  other  hand,  the  right,  she  held  a  little,  cir 
cular  pocket-mirror,  cased  in  brass,  and  held  it  well  down 
in  the  shade.  Only  the  tangle  of  her  thick,  black  hair 
and  the  top  of  her  head  could  be  seen  from  the  westward 
side.  Her  slim  young  body  was  clothed  in  a  dark-blue, 
well-made  garment,  half  sack,  half  skirt,  with  long, 
loose  trousers  of  the  same  material.  There  was  fanciful 
embroidery  of  bead  and  thread  about  the  throat.  There 
was  something  un-Indian  about  the  cut  and  fashion  of  the 
garments  that  suggested  civilized  and  feminine  super 
vision.  The  very  way  she  wore  her  hair,  parted  and  roll 
ing  back,  instead  of  tumbling  in  thick,  barbaric  "  bang  " 
into  her  eyes,  spoke  of  other  than  savage  teaching;  and 
the  dainty  make,  of  her  moccasins ;  the  soft,  pliant  folds  of 
the  leggins  that  fell,  Apache  fashion,  about  her  ankles,  all 
told,  with  their  bead  work  and  finish,,  that  this  was  no  un 
sought  girl  of  the  tribespeople.  Even  the  sudden  gesture 
with  which,  never  looking  back,  she  cautioned  some  fol- 

259 


260  AN  APACHE  PRINCESS 

lower  to  keep  down,  spoke  significantly  of  rank  and 
authority.  It  was  a  chief's  daughter  that  knelt  peering 
intently  over  the  ledge  of  rocks  toward  the  black  shadows 
of  the  opposite  slope.  It  was  Natzie,  child  of  a  warrior 
leader  revered  among  his  people,  though  no  longer  spared 
to  guide  them — Natzie,  who  eagerly,  anxiously  searched 
the  length  of  the  dark  gorge  for  sign  or  signal,  and 
warned  her  companion  to  come  no  further. 

Over  the  gloomy  depths,  a  mile  away  about  a  jutting 
point,  three  or  four  buzzards  were  slowly  circling,  dis 
turbed,  yet  determined.  Over  the  broad  valley  that  ex 
tended  for  miles  toward  the  westward  range  of  heights, 
the  mantle  of  twilight  was  slowly  creeping,  as  in  his  ex 
pressive  sign  language  the  Indian  spreads  his  extended 
hands,  palms  down,  drawing  and  smoothing  imaginary 
blanket,  the  robe  of  night,  over  the  face  of  nature.  Far 
to  the  northward,  from  some  point  along  the  face  of  the 
heights,  a  fringe  of  smoke  was  drifting  in  the  soft  breeze 
sweeping  down  the  valley  from  the  farther  Sierras.  Wild, 
untrodden,  undesired  of  man,  the  wilderness  lay  out 
spread — miles  and  miles  of  gloom  and  desolation,  save 
where  some  lofty  scarp  of  glistening  rock,  jutting  from 
among  the  scattered  growth  of  dark-hued  pine  and  cedar, 
caught  the  brilliant  rays  of  the  declining  sun. 

Behind  the  spot  where  Natzie  knelt,  the  general  slope 
was  broken  by  a  narrow  ledge  or  platform,  bowlder- 
strewn — from  which,  almost  vertically,  rose  the  rocky 
scarp  again.  Among  the  sturdy,  stunted  fir  trees,  beard 
ing  the  rugged  face,  frowned  a  deep  fissure,  dark  as  a 


AN  APACHE  QUEEN  261 

wolf  den,  and,  just  in  front  of  it,  wide-eyed,  open- 
mouthed,  crouched  Lola — Natzie's  shadow.  Rarely  in 
reservation  days,  until  after  Blakely  came  as  agent,  were 
they  ever  seen  apart,  and  now,  in  these  days  of  exile  and 
alarm,  they  were  not  divided.  Under  a  spreading  cedar, 
close  to  the  opening,  a  tiny  fire  glowed  in  a  crevice  of  the 
rocks,  sending  forth  no  betraying  smoke.  About  it  were 
some  rude  utensils,  a  pot  or  two,  a  skillet,  an  earthen 
olla,  big  enough  to  hold  perhaps  three  gallons,  two  bowls 
of  woven  grass,  close  plaited,  almost,  as  the  famous  fiber 
of  Panama.  In  one  of  these  was  heaped  a  store  of 
pinons,  in  the  other  a  handful  or  two  of  wild  plums.  Sign 
of  civilization,  except  a  battered  tin  teapot,  there  was 
none,  yet  presently  was  there  heard  a  sound  that  told 
of  Anglo-Saxon  presence — the  soft  voice  of  a  girl  in 
low-toned,  sweet-worded  song — song  so  murmurous 
it  might  have  been  inaudible  save  in  the  intense 
stillness  of  that  almost  breathless  evening — song  so  low 
that  the  Indian  girl,  intent  in  her  watch  at  the  edge  of  the 
cliff,  seemed  not  to  hear  at  all.  It  was  Lola  who  heard 
and  turned  impatiently,  a  black  frown  in  her  snapping 
eyes,  and  a  lithe  young  Indian  lad,  hitherto  unseen, 
dropped  noiselessly  from  a  perch  somewhere  above  them 
and,  filling  a  gourd  at  the  olla,  bent  and  disappeared  in 
the  narrow  crevice  back  of  the  curtain  of  firs.  The  low 
song  ceased  gradually,  softly,  as  a  mother  ceases  her 
crooning  lullaby,  lest  the  very  lack  of  the  love-notes  stir 
the  drowsing  baby  brain  to  sudden  waking. 

With  the  last  words  barely  whispered  the  low  voice 


262  AN  APACHE  PRINCESS 

died  away.  The  Indian  lad  came  forth  into  the  light 
again,  empty-handed ;  plucked  at  Lola's  gown,  pointed  to 
Natzie,  for  the  moment  forgotten,  now  urgently  beckon 
ing.  Bending  low,  they  ran  to  her.  She  was  pointing 
across  the  deep  gorge  that  opened  a  way  to  the  south 
ward.  Something  far  down  toward  its  yawning  mouth 
had  caught  her  eager  eye,  and  grasping  the  arm  of  the 
lad  with  fingers  that  twitched  and  burned,  she  whispered 
in  the  Apache  tongue : 

"  They're  coming." 

One  long  look  the  boy  gave  in  the  direction  pointed, 
then,  backing  away  from  the  edge,  he  quickly  swept 
away  a  Navajo  blanket  that  hung  from  the  protruding 
branches  of  a  low  cedar,  letting  the  broad  light  into  the 
cavelike  space  beyond.  There,  on  a  hard  couch  of  rock, 
skin,  and  blanket,  lay  a  fevered  form  in  rough  scouting 
dress.  There,  with  pinched  cheeks,  and  eyes  that  heavily 
opened,  dull  and  suffused,  lay  the  soldier  officer  who  had 
ridden  forth  to  rescue  and  to  save,  himself  now  a  crippled 
and  helpless  captive.  Beside  him,  wringing  out  a  wet 
handkerchief  and  spreading  it  on  the  burning  forehead, 
knelt  Angela.  The  girls  who  faced  each  other  for  the 
first  time  at  the  pool — the  daughter  of  the  Scotch- Ameri 
can  captain — the  daughter  of  the  Apache  Mohave  chief — 
were  again  brought  into  strange  companionship  over  the 
unconscious  form  of  the  soldier  Blakely. 

Resentful  of  the  sudden  glare  that  caused  her  patient 
to  shrink  and  toss  complainingly,  Angela  glanced  up  al 
most  in  rebuke,  but  was  stilled  by  the  look  and  attitude 


SLOWLY  THEY    SAW  HER     RAISE  HER    RIGHT    HAJTD,  STILU 
CAUTIOUSLY  HOLDING  THE  LITTLE  MIRROR  " 


AN  APACHE  QUEEN  263 

of  the  young  savage.  He  stood  with  forefinger  on  his 
closed  lips,  bending  excitedly  toward  her.  He  was  cau 
tioning  her  to  make  no  sound,  even  while  his  very  coming 
brought  disturbance  to  her  first  thought — her  fevered 
patient.  Then,  seeing  both  rebuke  and  question  in  her 
big,  troubled  eyes,  the  young  Indian  removed  his  finger 
and  spoke  two  words :  "  Patchie  come,"  and,  rising,  she 
followed  him  out  to  the  flat  in  front. 

Natzie  at  the  moment  was  still  crouching  close  to  the 
edge,  gazing  intently  over,  one  little  brown  hand  ner 
vously  grasping  the  branch  of  a  stunted  cedar,  the  other 
as  nervously  clutching  the  mirror.  So  utterly  absorbed 
was  she  that  the  hiss  of  warning,  or  perhaps  of  hatred, 
with  which  Lola  greeted  the  sudden  coming  of  Angela, 
seemed  to  fall  unnoted  on  her  ears.  Lola,  her  black  eyes 
snapping  and  her  lips  compressed,  glanced  up  at  the 
white  girl  almost  in  fury.  Natzie,  paying  no  heed  what 
ever  to  what  was  occurring  about  her,  knelt  breathless  at 
her  post,  watching,  eagerly  watching.  Then,  slowly, 
they  saw  her  raise  her  right  hand,  still  cautiously  holding 
the  little  mirror,  face  downward,  and  at  sight  of  this  the 
Apache  boy  could  scarcely  control  his  trembling,  and 
Lola,  turning  about,  spoke  some  furious  words,  in  low, 
intense  tone,  that  made  him  shrink  back  toward  the 
screen.  Then  the  wild  girl  glared  again  at  Angela,  as 
though  the  sight  of  her  were  unbearable,  and,  with  as 
furious  a  gesture,  sought  to  drive  her,  too,  again  to  the 
refuge  of  the  dark  cleft,  but  Angela  never  stirred.  Pay 
ing  no  heed  to  Lola,  the  daughter  of  the  soldier  gazed 


264  AN  APACHE  PRINCESS 

only  at  the  daughter  of  the  chief,  at  Natzie,  whose  hand 
was  now  level  with  the  surface  of  the  rock.  The  next 
instant,  far  to  the  northwest  flashed  a  slender  beam  of 
dazzling  light,  another — another.  An  interval  of  a  sec 
ond  or  two,  and  still  another  flash.  Angela  could  see  the 
tiny,  nebulous  dot,  like  will-'o-the-wisp,  dancing  far  over 
among  the  rocks  across  a  gloomy  gorge.  She  had  never 
seen  it  before,  but  knew  it  at  a  glance.  The  Indian  girl 
was  signaling  to  some  of  her  father's  people  far  over 
toward  the  great  reservation,  and  the  tale  she  told  was 
that  danger  menaced.  Angela  could  not  know  that  it 
told  still  more, — that  danger  menaced  not  only  Natzie, 
daughter  of  one  warrior  chief,  and  the  chosen  of  another 
now  among  their  heroic  dead — it  threatened  those  whom 
she  was  pledged  to  protect,  even  against  her  own  people. 

Somewhere  down  that  deep  and  frowning  rift  to  the 
southwest,  Indian  guides  were  leading  their  brethren  on 
the  trail  of  these  refugees  among  the  upper  rocks.  Some 
where,  far  over  among  the  uplands  to  the  northwest, 
other  tribesfolk,  her  own  kith  and  kin,  were  lurking,  and 
these  the  Indian  girl  was  summoning  with  all  speed,  to 
her  aid. 

And  in  the  slant  of  that  same  glaring  sunshine,  not 
four  miles  away,  toiling  upward  along  a  rocky  slope,  fol 
lowing  the  faint  sign  here  and  there  of  Apache  moccasin, 
a  little  command  of  hardy,  war-worn  men  had  nearly 
reached  the  crest  when  their  leader  signaled  backward 
to  the  long  column  of  files,  and,  obedient  to  the  excited 
gestures  of  the  young  Hualpai  guide,  climbed  to  his  side 


AN  APACHE  QUEEN  265 

and  gazed  intently  over.  What  he  saw  on  a  lofty  point 
of  rocks,  well  away  from  the  tortuous  "  breaks  "  through 
which  they  had  made  most  of  their  wearying  marches 
from  the  upper  Beaver,  brought  the  light  of  hope,  the  fire 
of  battle,  to  his  somber  eyes.  "  Send  Arnold  up  here/' 
he  shouted  to  the  men  below,  and  Arnold  came,  clamber 
ing  past  rock  and  bowlder  until  he  reached  the  captain's 
side,  took  one  look  in  the  direction  indicated,  and  brought 
his  brown  hand  down  with  resounding  swat  on  the  butt 
of  his  rifle.  "Treed  'em!"  said  he  exultantly;  then, 
with  doubtful,  backward  glance  along  the  crouching  file 
of  weary  men,  some  sitting  now  and  fanning  with  their 
broad-brimmed  hats,  he  turned  again  to  the  captain 
and  anxiously  inquired :  "  Can  we  make  it  before 
dark?" 

"  We  must  make  it !  "  simply  answered  Stout. 

And  then,  far  over  among  the  heights  between  them 
and  the  reservation,  there  went  suddenly  aloft — one,  two, 
three — compact  little  puffs  of  bluish  smoke.  Someone 
was  answering  signals  flashed  from  the  rocky  point — 
someone  who,  though  far  away,  was  promising  aid. 
"  Let's  be  the  first  to  reach  them,  lads,"  said  Stout,  him 
self  a  wearied  man.  And  with  that  they  slowly  rose  and 
went  stumbling  upward.  The  prize  was  worth  their 
every  effort,  and  hope  was  leading  on. 

An  hour  later,  with  barely  half  the  distance  traversed, 
so  steep  and  rocky,  so  wild  and  winding,  was  the  way, 
with  the  sun  now  tangent  to  the  distant  range  afar  across 
the  valley,  they  faintly  heard  a  sound  that  spurred  them 


266  AN  APACHE  PRINCESS 

on — two  shots  in  quick  succession  from  unseen  depths 
below  the  lofty  point.  And  now  they  took  the  Indian  jog 
trot.  There  was  business  ahead. 

Between  them  and  that  gleaming  promontory  now  lay 
a  comparatively  open  valley,  less  cumbered  with  bowlders 
than  were  the  ridges  and  ravines  through  which  they  had 
come,  less  obstructed,  too,  with  stunted  trees.  Here  was 
opportunity  for  horsemen,  hitherto  denied,  and  Stout 
called  on  Brewster  and  his  score  of  troopers,  who  for 
hours  had  been  towing  their  tired  steeds  at  the  rear  of 
column.  "  Mount  and  push  ahead !  "  said  he.  "  You  are 
Wren's  own  men.  It  is  fitting  you  should  get  there 
first." 

"  Won't  the  captain  ride  with  us — now  ?  "  asked  the 
nearest  sergeant. 

"  Not  if  it  robs  a  man  of  his  mount,"  was  the  answer. 
Yet  there  was  longing  in  his  eye  and  all  men  saw  it. 
He  had  led  them  day  after  day,  trudging  afoot,  because 
his  own  lads  could  not  ride.  Indeed,  there  had  been  few 
hours  when  any  horse  could  safely  bear  a  rider.  There 
came  half  a  dozen  offers  now.  "  I'll  tramp  afoot  if  the 
captain  '11  only  take  my  horse,"  said  more  than  one 
man. 

And  so  the  captain  was  with  them,  as  with  darkness 
settling  down  they  neared  the  great  cliff  towering  against 
the  southeastward  sky.  Then  suddenly  they  realized 
they  were  guided  thither  only  just  in  time  to  raise  a  well- 
nigh  fatal  siege.  Thundering  down  the  mountain  side  a 
big  bowlder  came  tearing  its  way,  launched  from  the  very 


AN  APACHE  QUEEN  267 

point  that  had  been  the  landmark  of  their  eager  coming, 
and  with  the  downward  crashing  of  the  rock  there  burst 
a  yell  of  fury. 

Midway  up  the  steep  incline,  among  the  straggling 
timber,  two  lithe  young  Indians  were  seen  bounding  out 
of  a  little  gully,  only  just  in  time  to  escape.  Two  or  three 
others,  farther  aloft,  darted  around  a  shoulder  of  cliff  as 
though  scurrying  out  of  sight.  From  the  edge  of  the 
precipice  the  crack  of  a  revolver  was  followed  by  a  second, 
and  then  by  a  scream.  "  Dismount !  "  cried  Brewster,  as 
he  saw  the  captain  throw  himself  from  his  horse;  then, 
leaving  only  two  or  three  to  gather  in  their  now  excited 
steeds,  snapping  their  carbines  to  full  cock,  with  blazing 
eyes  and  firm-set  lips,  the  chosen  band  began  their  final 
climb.  "  Don't  bunch.  Spread  out  right  and  left,"  were 
the  only  cautions,  and  then  in  long,  irregular  line,  up  the 
mountain  steep  they  clambered,  hope  and  duty  still  lead 
ing  on,  the  last  faint  light  of  the  November  evening 
showing  them  their  rocky  way.  Now,  renegadoes,  it  is 
fight  or  flee  for  your  lives ! 

Perhaps  a  hundred  yards  farther  up  the  jagged  face  the 
leaders  came  upon  an  incline  so  steep  that,  like  the  Tontos 
above  them,  they  were  forced  to  edge  around  to  the  south 
ward,  whither  their  comrades  followed.  Presently,  issu 
ing  from  the  shelter  of  the  pines,  they  came  upon  a  bare 
and  bowlder-dotted  patch  to  cross  which  brought  them 
plainly  into  view  of  the  heights  above,  and  almost  in 
stantly  under  fire.  Shot  after  shot,  to  which  they  could 
make  no  reply,  spat  and  flattened  on  the  rocks  about  them, 


268  AN  APACHE  PRINCESS 

but,  dodging-  and  ducking  instinctively,  they  pressed 
swiftly  on.  Once  more  within  the  partial  shelter  of  the 
pines  across  the  open,  they  again  resumed  the  climb,  com 
ing  suddenly  upon  a  sight  that  fairly  spurred  them. 
There,  feet  upward  among  the  bowlders,  stiff  and  swollen 
in  death,  lay  all  that  the  lynxes  had  left  of  a  cavalry 
horse.  Gose  at  hand  was  the  battered  troop  saddle. 
Caught  in  the  bushes  a  few  rods  above  was  the  folded 
blanket,  and,  lodged  in  a  crevice,  still  higher,  lay  the  felt- 
covered  canteen,  stenciled  with  the  number  and  letter  of 
Wren's  own  troop.  It  was  the  horse  of  the  orderly, 
Horn — the  horse  on  which  the  Bugologist  had  ridden 
away  in  search  of  Angela  Wren.  It  was  all  the  rescuers 
needed  to  tell  them  they  were  now  on  the  trail  of  both, 
and  now  the  carbines  barked  in  earnest  at  every  flitting 
glimpse  of  the  foe,  sending  the  wary  Tontos  skipping  and 
scurrying  southward.  And,  at  last,  breathless,  panting, 
well-nigh  exhausted,  the  active  leaders  found  themselves 
halting  at  a  narrow,  twisting  little  game  trail,  winding 
diagonally  up  the  slope,  with  that  gray  scarp  of  granite 
jutting  from  the  mountain  side  barely  one  hundred  yards 
farther;  and,  waving  from  its  crest,  swung  by  unseen 
hands,  some  white,  fluttering  object,  faintly  seen  in  the 
gathering  dusk,  beckoned  them  on.  The  last  shots  fired 
at  the  last  Indians  seen  gleamed  red  in  the  autumn  gloam 
ing.  They,  the  rescuers,  had  reached  their  tryst  only 
just  as  night  and  darkness  shrouded  the  westward  valley. 
The  last  man  up  had  to  grope  his  way,  and  long  before 
that  last  man  reached  the  ledge  the  cheering  word  was 


AN  APACHE  QUEEN  269 

passed  from  the  foremost  climber :  "  Both  here,  boys,  and 
safe!" 

An  hour  later  brought  old  Heartburn  to  the  scene, 
scrambling  up  with  the  other  footmen,  and  speedily  was 
he  kneeling  by  the  fevered  officer's  side.  The  troopers 
had  been  sent  back  to  their  horses.  Only  Stout,  the  doc 
tor,  Wales  Arnold,  and  one  or  two  sergeants  remained  at 
the  ledge,  with  rescued  Angela,  the  barely  conscious  pa 
tient,  and  their  protectors,  the  Indian  girls.  Already  the 
boy  had  been  hurried  off  with  a  dispatch  to  Sandy,  and 
now  dull,  apathetic,  and  sullen,  Lola  sat  shrouded  in  her 
blanket,  while  Arnold,  with  the  little  Apache  dialect  he 
knew,  was  striving  to  get  from  Natzie  some  explanation 
of  her  daring  and  devotion. 

Between  tears  and  laughter,  Angela  told  her  story.  It 
was  much  as  they  had  conjectured.  Mad  with  anxiety  on 
her  father's  account,  she  said,  she  had  determined  to  reach 
him  and  nurse  him.  She  felt  sure  that,  with  so  many 
troops  out  between  the  post  and  the  scene  of  action,  there 
was  less  danger  of  her  being  caught  by  Indians  than  of 
being  turned  back  by  her  own  people.  She  had  purposely 
dashed  by  the  ranch,  fearing  opposition,  had  purposely 
kept  behind  Colonel  Byrne's  party  until  she  found  a  way 
of  slipping  round  and  past  them  where  she  could  feel  sure 
of  speedily  regaining  the  trail.  She  had  encountered 
neither  friend  nor  foe  until,  just  as  she  would  have  ridden 
away  from  the  Willow  Tanks,  she  was  suddenly  con 
fronted  by  Natzie,  Lola,  and  two  young  Apaches.  Natzie 
eagerly  gesticulated,  exclaiming,  "Apaches,  Apaches," 


270  AN  APACHE  PRINCESS 

and  pointing  ahead  up  the  trail,  and,  though  she  could 
speak  no  English,  convincing  Angela  that  she  was  in  des 
perate  danger.  The  others  were  scowling  and  hateful, 
but  completely  under  Natzie's  control,  and  between  them 
they  hustled  her  pony  into  a  ravine  leading  to  the  north 
and  led  him  along  for  hours,  Angela,  powerless  to  prevent, 
riding  helplessly  on.  At  last  they  made  her  dismount, 
and  then  came  a  long,  fearful  climb  afoot,  up  the  steepest 
trail  she  had  ever  known,  until  it  brought  her  here.  And 
here,  she  could  not  tell  how  many  nights  afterwards — it 
seemed  weeks,  so  had  the  days  and  hours  dragged — here, 
while  she  slept  at  last  the  sleep  of  exhaustion,  they  had 
brought  Mr.  Blakely.  He  lay  there  in  raging  fever  when 
she  was  awakened  that  very  morning  by  Natzie's  crying 
in  her  ear  some  words  that  sounded  like:  " Hermano 
iriene!  Hermano  viene!" 

Stout  had  listened  with  absorbing  interest  and  to  the 
very  last  word.  Then,  as  one  who  heard  at  length  full 
explanation  of  what  he  had  deemed  incredible,  his  hand 
went  out  and  clutched  that  of  Arnold,  while  his  deep  eyes, 
full  of  infinite  pity,  turned  to  where  poor  Natzie  crouched, 
watching  silently  and  in  utter  self-forgetfulness  the  doc 
tor's  ministrations. 

"Wales,"  he  muttered,  "that  settles  the  whole  busi 
ness.  Whatever  you  do, — don't  let  that  poor  girl  know 
that — they  " — and  now  he  warily  glanced  toward  Angela 
— "  they — are  not  brother  and  sister." 


TH:EV  HUSTLED  HER  POXY  IXTO  A  KA.VIXE 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

THE   MEETING  AT  SANDY 

DECEMBER,  and  the  noonday  sun  at  Sandy  still 
beat  hotly  on  the  barren  level  of  the  parade. 
The  fierce  and  sudden  campaign  seemed  ended, 
for  the  time,  at  least,  as  only  in  scattered  remnants  could 
the  renegade  Indians  be  found.  Eastward  from  the  Agua 
Fria  to  the  Chiquito,  and  northward  from  the  Salado  to 
the  very  cliffs  of  the  grand  canon,  the  hard-worked 
troopers  had  scoured  the  wild  and  mountainous  country, 
striking  hard  whenever  they  found  a  hostile  band,  striv 
ing  ever,  through  interpreters  and  runners,  to  bring  the 
nervous  and  suspicious  tribes  to  listen  to  reason  and  to 
return  to  their  reservations.  This  for  long  days,  how 
ever,  seemed  impossible.  The  tragic  death  of  Raven 
Shield,  most  popular  of  the  young  chiefs,  struck  down,  as 
they  claimed,  when  he  was  striving  only  to  defend  Natzie, 
daughter  of  a  revered  leader,  had  stirred  the  savages  to 
furious  reprisals,  and  nothing  but  the  instant  action  of  the 
troops  in  covering  the  valley  had  saved  the  scattered  set 
tlers  from  universal  massacre.  Enough  had  been  done 
by  one  band  alone  to  thrill  the  West  with  horror,  but 
these  had  fled  southward  into  Mexico  and  were  safe  be 
yond  the  border.  The  settlers  were  slowly  creeping  back 
now  to  their  abandoned  homes,  and  one  after  another  the 

271 


272  AN  APACHE  PRINCESS 

little  field  detachments  were  marching  to  their  accustomed 
stations.  Sandy  was  filling  up  again  with  something  be 
sides  the  broken  down  and  wounded. 

First  to  come  in  was  Stout's  triumphant  half  hundred, 
the  happiest  family  of  horse  and  foot,  commingled,  ever 
seen  upon  the  Pacific  slope,  for  their  proud  lot  it  had  been 
to  reach  and  rescue  Angela,  beloved  daughter  of  the  regi 
ment,  and  Blakely,  who  had  well-nigh  sacrificed  himself 
in  the  effort  to  find  and  save  her.  Stout  and  his  thirty 
"doughboys,"  Brewster,  the  sergeant,  with  his  twenty 
troopers,  had  been  welcomed  by  the  entire  community  as 
the  heroes  of  the  brief  campaign,  but  Stout  would  none  of 
their  adulation. 

"  There  is  the  one  you  should  thank  and  bless,'*  said  he, 
his  eyes  turning  to  where  stood  Natzie,  sad  and  silent, 
watching  the  attendants  who  were  lifting  Neil  Blakely 
from  the  litter  to  the  porch  of  the  commanding  officer. 

They  had  brought  her  in  with  them,  Lola  and  Alchisay 
as  well — the  last  two  scowling  and  sullen,  but  ruled  by 
the  chieftain's  daughter.  They  had  loaded  her  with 
praise  and  thanks,  but  she  paid  no  heed.  Two  hours  after 
Stout  and  his  troopers  had  reached  the  cliff  and  driven 
away  the  murderous  band  of  renegades — Tontos  and 
Apache  Yumas — bent  on  stealing  her  captives,  there  had 
come  a  little  party  of  her  own  kindred  in  answer  to  her 
signals,  but  these  would  have  been  much  too  late. 
Blakely  would  have  been  butchered.  Angela  and  her 
benefactors,  too,  would  probably  have  been  the  victims  of 
their  captors.  Natzie  could  look  for  no  mercy  from  them 


THE  MEETING  AT  SANDY  273 

now.  Through  Wales  Arnold,  the  captain  and  his  men 
had  little  by  little  learned  the  story  of  Natzie's  devotion. 
In  the  eyes  of  her  father,  her  brother,  her  people,  Blakely 
was  greater  even  than  the  famous  big  chief,  Crook,  the 
Gray  Fox,  who  had  left  them,  ordered  to  other  duties  but 
the  year  gone  by.  Blakely  had  quickly  righted  the  wrongs 
done  them  by  a  thieving  agent.  Blakely  had  given  fair 
trial  to  and  saved  the  life  of  Mariano,  that  fiery  brother, 
who,  ironed  by  the  former  agent's  orders,  had  with  his 
shackled  hands  struck  down  his  persecutor  and  then 
escaped.  Blakely  had  won  their  undying  gratitude,  and 
Stout  and  Arnold  saw  now  why  it  was  that  one  young 
brave,  at  least,  could  not  share  the  love  his  people  bore 
for  Gran  Capitan  Blanco — that  one  was  Quonothay — 
the  Chief  Raven  Shield.  They  saw  now  why  poor  Natzie 
had  no  heart  to  give  her  Indian  lover.  They  saw  now 
why  it  was  that  Natzie  wandered  from  the  agency  and 
hovered  for  some  days  before  the  outbreak  there  around 
the  post.  It  was  to  be  near  the  young  white  chief  whom 
she  well-nigh  worshiped,  whom  she  had  been  accustomed 
to  see  every  day  of  her  life  during  his  duties  at  the  agency. 
They  saw  now  why  it  was  the  savage  girl  had  dared  the 
vengeance  of  the  Apaches  by  the  rescue  of  Angela.  She 
believed  her  to  be  Blakely's  sister,  yet  they  could  not  give 
the  reason  why.  They  knew  very  little  of  Neil  Blakely, 
but  what  they  did  know  made  them  doubt  that  he  could 
ever  have  been  the  one  at  fault.  Over  this  problem  both 
ranchman  and  soldier,  Arnold  and  Stout,  looked  grave 
indeed.  It  was  not  like  Blakely  that  he  should  make  a 


274  AN  APACHE  PRINCESS 

victim  of  this  young  Indian  girl.  She  was  barely  six 
teen,  said  Arnold,  who  knew  her  people  well.  She  had 
never  been  alone  with  Blakely,  said  her  kinsfolk,  who 
came  that  night  in  answer  to  her  signals.  She  had  saved 
Angela,  believing  her  to  be  Blakely's  own  blood,  had  led 
her  to  her  own  mountain  refuge,  and  then,  confident  that 
Blakely  would  make  search  for  it  and  for  his  sister,  had 
gone  forth  and  found  him,  already  half-dazed  with  fever 
and  exhaustion,  and  had  striven  to  lead  his  staggering 
horse  up  that  precipitous  trail.  It  was  the  poor  brute's 
last  climb.  Blakely  she  managed  to  bring  in  safety  to 
her  lofty  eerie.  The  horse  had  fallen,  worn  out  in  the 
effort,  and  died  on  the  rocks  below.  She  had  roused  An 
gela  with  what  she  thought  would  be  joyful  tidings,  even 
though  she  saw  that  her  hero  was  desperately  ill.  She 
thought,  of  course,  the  white  girl  knew  the  few  words  of 
Spanish  that  she  could  speak.  All  this  was  made  evident 
to  Arnold  and  Stout,  partly  through  Natzie's  young 
brother,  who  had  helped  to  find  and  support  the  white 
chief,  partly  through  the  girl  herself.  It  was  evident  to 
Arnold,  too,  that  up  to  the  time  of  their  coming  nothing 
had  happened  to  undeceive  Natzie  as  to  that  relationship. 
They  tried  to  induce  her  to  return  to  the  agency,  although 
her  father  and  brother  were  still  somewhere  with  the 
hostile  bands,  but  she  would  not,  she  would  go  with  them 
to  Sandy,  and  they  could  not  deny  her.  More  than  once 
on  that  rongh  march  of  three  days  they  found  themselves 
asking  what  would  the  waking  be.  Angela,  daughter  of 
civilization,  under  safe  escort,  had  been  sent  on  ahead, 


THE  MEETING  AT  SANDY  275 

close  following  the  courier  who  scurried  homeward  with 
the  news.  Natzie,  daughter  of  the  wilderness,  could  not 
be  driven  from  the  sight  of  Blakely's  litter.  The  dumb, 
patient,  pathetic  appeal  of  her  great  soft  eyes,  as  she 
watched  every  look  in  the  doctor's  face,  was  some 
thing  wonderful  to  see.  But  now,  at  last,  the  fevered 
sufferer  was  home,  still  only  semi-conscious,  being  borne 
within  the  walls  of  the  major's  quarters,  and  she  who  had 
saved  him,  slaved  for  him,  dared  for  him,  could  only 
mutely  gaze  after  his  prostrate  and  wasted  form  as  it  dis 
appeared  within  the  darkened  hallway  in  the  arms  of  his 
men.  Then  came  a  light  step  bounding  along  the  veranda 
— then  came  Angela,  no  longer  clad  in  the  riding  garb  in 
which  hitherto  Natzie  had  seen  her,  but  in  cool  and 
shimmering  white,  with  gladness  and  gratitude  in  her 
beautiful  eyes,  with  welcome  and  protection  in  her  ex 
tended  hand,  and  the  Indian  girl  looked  strangely  from 
her  to  the  dark  hallway  within  which  her  white  hero  had 
disappeared,  and  shrank  back  from  the  proffered  touch. 
If  this  was  the  soldier's  sister  should  not  she  now  be  at 
the  soldier's  side?  Had  she  other  lodge  than  that  which 
gave  him  shelter,  now  that  his  own  was  burned  ?  Angela 
saw  for  the  first  time  aversion,  question,  suspicion  in  the 
great  black  eyes  from  which  the  softness  and  the  plead 
ing  had  suddenly  fled.  Then,  rebuffed,  disturbed,  and 
troubled,  she  turned  to  Arnold,  who  would  gladly  have 
slipped  away. 

"Can't  you  make  her  understand,  Mr.  Arnold?"  she 
pleaded.     "  I  don't  know  a  word  of  her  language,  and  I 


276  AN  APACHE  PRINCESS 

so  want  to  be  her  friend — so  want  to  take  her  to  my 
home ! " 

And  then  the  frontiersman  did  a  thing  for  which,  when 
she  heard  of  it  one  sunset  later,  his  better  half  said  words 
of  him  and  to  him  that  overstepped  all  bounds  of  parlia 
mentary,  usage,  and  that  only  a  wife  would  dare  to  employ. 
With  the  blundering  stupidity  of  his  sex,  poor  Arnold 
"  settled  things  "  for  many  a  day  and  well-nigh  ruined 
the  sweetest  romance  that  Sandy  had  ever  seen  the 
birth  of. 

"  Ah,  Miss  Angela !  only  one  place  will  ever  be  home  to 
Natzie  now.  Her  eyes  will  tell  you  that." 

And  already,  regardless  of  anything  these  women  of  the 
white  chiefs  might  think  or  say,  unafraid  save  of  seeing 
him  no  more,  unashamed  save  of  being  where  she  could 
not  heed  his  every  look  or  call  or  gesture,  the  daughter 
of  the  mountain  and  the  desert  stood  gazing  again  after 
the  vanished  form  her  eyes  long  months  had  worshiped, 
and  the  daughter  of  the  schools  and  civilization  stood 
flushing  one-half  moment,  then  slowly  paling,  as,  without 
another  glance  or  effort,  she  turned  silently  away.  Kate 
Sanders  it  was  who  sprang  quickly  after  her  and  en 
circled  the  slender  waist  with  her  fond  and  clasping 
arm. 

That  night  the  powers  of  all  Camp  Sandy  were  ex 
hausted  in  effort  to  suitably  provide  for  Natzie  and  her 
two  companions.  Mrs.  Sanders,  Mrs.  Bridger,  even 
Mother  Shaughnessy  and  Norah  pleaded  successively 
with  this  princess  of  the  wilderness,  and  pleaded  in  vain. 


THE  MEETING  AT  SANDY  277 

Food  and  shelter  elsewhere  they  proffered  in  abundance. 
Natzie  sat  stubbornly  at  the  major's  steps,  and  sadly  at 
first,  and  angrily  later,  shook  her  head  to  every  proposi 
tion.  Then  they  brought  food,  and  Lola  and  Alchisay 
ate  greedily.  Natzie  would  hardly  taste  a  morsel. 
Every  time  Plume  or  Graham  or  a  soldier  nurse  came 
forth  her  mournful  eyes  would  study  his  face  as  though 
imploring  news  of  the  sufferer,  who  lay  unconscious  of 
her  vigil,  if  not  of  her  existence.  Graham's  treatment 
was  beginning  to  tell,  and  Blakely  was  sleeping  the  sleep 
of  the  just.  They  had  not  let  him  know  of  the  poor  girl's 
presence  at  the  door.  They  would  not  let  her  in  for  fear 
he  might  awake  and  see  her,  and  ask  the  reason  of  her 
coming.  They  would  not  send  or  take  her  away,  for  all 
Sandy  was  alive  with  the  strange  story  of  her  devotion. 
The  question  on  almost  every  lip  was  "  How  is  this  to 
end?" 

At  tattoo  there  came  a  Mexican  woman  from  one  of  the 
downstream  ranches,  sent  in  by  the  post  trader,  who  said 
she  could  speak  the  Apache-Mohave  language  sufficiently 
well  to  make  Natzie  understand  the  situation,  and  this 
frontier  linguist  strove  earnestly.  Natzie  understood 
every  word  she  said,  was  her  report,  but  could  not  be  made 
to  understand  that  she  ought  to  go.  In  the  continued 
absence  of  Mrs.  Plume,  both  the  major  and  the  post  sur 
geon  had  requested  of  Mrs.  Graham  that  she  should  come 
over  for  a  while  and  "  see  what  she  could  do,"  and,  leav 
ing  her  own  sturdy  bairnies,  the  good,  motherly  soul  had 
come  and  presided  over  this  diplomatic  interview,  propos- 


278  AN  APACHE  PRINCESS 

ing  various  plans  for  Natzie's  disposition  for  the  night. 
And  other  ladies  hovering  about  had  been  sympathetic 
ally  suggestive,  but  the  Indian  girl  had  turned  deaf  ear 
to  everything  that  would  even  temporarily  take  her  from 
her  self-appointed  station.  At  ten  o'clock  Mother 
Shaughnessy,  after  hanging  uneasily  about  the  porch  a 
moment  or  two,  gave  muttered  voice  to  a  suggestion  that 
other  women  had  shrunk  from  mentioning : 

"  Has  she  been  tould  Miss  Angela  and — him — is  no 
kin  at  all,  at  all?" 

"  I  don't  want  her  told,"  said  Mrs.  Graham  briefly. 

And  so  Natzie  was  still  there,  sitting  sleepless  in  the 
soft  and  radiant  moonlight,  when  toward  twelve  o'clock 
Graham  came  forth  from  his  last  visit  for  the  night,  and 
she  lifted  up  her  head  and  looked  him  dumbly  in  the  face, 
— dumbly,  yet  imploring  a  word  of  hope  or  comfort, — and 
it  was  more  than  the  soft-hearted  Scot  could  bear. 
"  Major,"  said  he,  as  he  gently  laid  a  big  hand  upon  the 
black  and  tangled  wealth  of  hair,  "  that  lad  in  yonder 
would  have  been  beyond  the  ken  of  civilization  days  ago 
if  it  hadn't  been  for  this  little  savage.  I'm  thinking  he'll 
sleep  none  the  worse  for  her  watching  over  him.  Todd's 
there  for  the  night,  the  same  that  attended  him  before, 
and  she  won't  be  strange  with  him — or  I'm  mistaken." 

"  Why?  "  asked  Plume,  mystified. 

"  I'm  not  saying,  until  Blakely  talks  for  himself.  For 
one  reason  I  don't  know.  For  another,  he's  the  man  to 
tell,  if  anybody,"  and  a  toss  of  the  head  toward  the  dark 
doorway  told  who  was  meant  by  "  he." 


THE  MEETING  AT  SANDY  279 

"  D'you  mean  you'd  have  this  girl  squatting  there  by 
Blakely's  bedside  the  rest  of  the  night  ?  "  asked  the  com 
mander,  ruffled  in  spirit.  "  What's  to  prevent  her  sing 
ing  their  confounded  death  song,  or  invoking  heathen 
spirits,  or  knifing  us  all,  for  that  matter  ?  " 

"  What  was  to  prevent  her  from  knifing  the  Bugologist 
and  Angela  both,  when  she  had  'em  ?  "  was  the  sturdy 
reply.  "  The  girl's  a  theoretical  heathen,  but  a  practical 
Christian.  Come  with  us,  Natzie,"  he  finished,  one  hand 
extended  to  aid  her  to  rise,  the  other  pointing  to  the  open 
doorway.  She  was  on  her  feet  in  an  instant,  and,  silently 
signing  her  companions  to  stay,  followed  the  doctor  into 
the  house. 

And  so  it  happened  that  when  Blakely  wakened,  hours 
later,  the  sight  that  met  him,  dimly  comprehending,  was 
that  of  a  blue-coated  soldier  snoozing  in  a  reclining  chair, 
a  blue-blanketed  Indian  girl  seated  on  the  floor  near  the 
foot  of  his  bed,  looking  with  all  her  soul  in  her  gaze 
straight  into  his  wondering  eyes.  At  his  low  whisper, 
"  Natzie,"  she  sprang  to  her  feet  without  word  or  sound ; 
seized  the  thin  white  hand  tremulously  extended  toward 
her,  and,  pillowing  her  cheek  upon  it,  knelt  humbly  by  the 
bedside,  her  black  hair  streaming  to  the  floor.  A  pathetic 
picture  it  made  in  the  dim  light  of  the  newborn  day,  forc 
ing  itself  through  the  shrouded  windows,  and  Major 
Plume,  restless  and  astir  the  hour  before  reveille,  stood  un 
noted  a  moment  at  the  doorway,  then  strode  back  through 
the  hall  and  summoned  from  the  adjoining  veranda 
another  sleepless  watcher,  gratefully  breathing  the  fra- 


280  AN  APACHE  PRINCESS 

grance  of  the  cool,  morning  air;  and  presently  two  dim 
forms  had  softly  tiptoed  to  that  open  portal,  and  now 
stood  gazing  within  until  their  eyes  should  triumph  over 
the  uncertain  light — the  post  commander  in  his  trim- 
fitting  undress  uniform,  the  tall  and  angular  shape  of 
Wren's  elderly  sister — the  "  austere  vestal  "  herself.  It 
may  have  been  a  mere  twitch  of  the  slim  fingers  under  her 
tawny  cheek  that  caused  Natzie  to  lift  her  eyes  in  search 
of  those  of  her  hero  and  her  protector.  Instantly  her  own 
gaze,  startled,  was  turned  straight  to  the  door.  Then  in 
another  second  she  had  sprung  to  her  feet,  and  with  fury 
in  her  face  and  attitude  confronted  the  intruders.  As 
she  did  so  the  sudden  movement  detached  some  object 
that  hung  within  the  breast  of  her  loose-fitting  sack — 
something  bright  and  gleaming  that  clattered  to  the  floor, 
falling  close  to  the  feet  of  the  drowsing  attendant,  while 
another — a  thin,  circular  case  of  soft  leather,  half-rolled, 
half-bounded  toward  the  unwelcome  visitors  at  the 
door. 

Todd,  roused  to  instant  action  at  sight  of  the  post  com 
mander,  bent  quickly  and  nabbed  the  first.  The  girl  her 
self  darted  after  the  second,  whereat  the  attendant,  mis 
judging  her  motive,  dreading  danger  to  his  betters  or 
rebuke  to  himself,  sprang  upon  her  as  she  stooped,  and 
dropping  his  first  prize,  dared  to  seize  the  Apache  girl 
with  both  hands  at  the  throat.  There  was  a  warning  cry 
from  the  bed,  a  flash  of  steel  through  one  slanting  ray  of 
sunshine,  a  shriek  from  the  lips  of  Janet  Wren,  and  with 
a  stifled  moan  the  luckless  soldier  sank  in  his  tracks,  while 


THE  MEETING  AT  SANDY  281 

Natzie,  the  chieftain's  daughter,  a  dripping  blade  in  her 
uplifted  hand,  a  veritable  picture  of  fury,  stood  in  savage 
triumph  over  him,  her  flashing  eyes  fixed  upon  the  amazed 
commander,  as  though  daring  him,  too,  to  lay  hostile 
hands  upon  her. 


CHAPTER  XXV 

RESCUE   REQUITED 

A3HANGE  had  come  over  the  spirit  of  Camp 
Sandy's  dream.  The  garrison  that  had  gone  to 
bed  the  previous  night,  leaving  Natzie  silent, 
watchful,  wistful  at  the  post  commander's  door,  had  hardly 
a  thought  that  was  not  full  of  sympathy  and  admiration- 
for  her.  Even  women  who  could  not  find  it  possible  to 
speak  of  her  probable  relations  with  Neil  Blakely  dwelt 
much  in  thought  and  word  upon  her  superb  devotion  and 
her  generosity.  That  he  had  encouraged  her  passionate 
and  almost  savage  love  for  him  there  were  few  to  doubt, 
whatsoever  they  might  find  it  possible  to  say.  That  men 
and  women  both  regarded  her  as,  beyond  compare,  the 
heroic  figure  of  the  campaign  there  was  none  to  gainsay. 
Even  those  who  could  not  or  did  not  talk  of  her  at  all 
felt  that  such  was  the  garrison  verdict.  There  were  no 
men,  and  but  few  women,  who  would  have  condemned  the 
doctor's  act  in  leading  her  to  Blakely's  bedside.  Sandy 
had  spoken  of  her  all  that  wonderful  evening  only  to 
praise.  It  woke  to  hear  the  first  tidings  of  the  new  day, 
and  to  ask  only  What  was  the  cause? — What  had  led 
to  her  wild,  swift  vengeance?  for  Todd  had  in  turn  been 
carried  to  hospital,  a  sore-stricken  man.  The  night  be 
fore  Natzie  was  held  a  queen :  now  she  was  held  a  captive. 

282 


RESCUE  REQUITED  283 

It  all  happened  so  suddenly  that  even  Plume,  who  wit 
nessed  the  entire  incident,  could  not  coherently  explain  it. 
Reveille  was  just  over  and  the  men  were  going  to  break 
fast  when  the  major's  voice  was  heard  shouting  for 
the  guard.  Graham,  first  man  to  reach  the  scene,  had 
collided  with  Janet  Wren,  whimpering  and  unnerved, 
as  he  bounded  into  the  hallway.  His  first  thought 
was  that  Plume's  prophecy  about  the  knifing  had  come 
true,  and  that  Blakely  was  the  victim.  His  first  sight, 
when  his  eyes  could  do  their  office  in  that  darkened  room, 
was  of  Blakely  wresting  something  from  the  grasp  of  the 
Indian  girl,  whose  gaze  was  now  riveted  on  that  writhing 
object  on  the  floor. 

"  See  to  him,  doctor,"  he  heard  Blakely  say,  in  feeble, 
but  commanding  tone.  "  I  will  see  to  her."  But  Blakely 
was  soon  in  no  condition  to  see  to  her  or  to  anybody.  The 
flicker  of  strength  that  came  to  him  for  a  second  or  two  at 
sight  of  the  tragedy,  left  him  as  suddenly — left  him 
feebler  than  before.  He  had  no  voice  with  which  to  pro 
test  when  the  stretchermen,  who  bore  away  poor  Todd, 
were  followed  instantly  by  stout  guardsmen  who  bore 
away  Natzie.  The  dignity  of  the  chieftain's  daughter  had 
vanished  now.  She  had  no  knife  with  which  to  deal 
death  to  these  new  and  most  reluctant  assailants — Graham 
found  it  under  Blakely's  pillow,  long  hours  later.  But, 
with  all  her  savage,  lissome  strength  she  scratched  and 
struck  and  struggled.  It  took  three  of  their  burliest  to 
carry  her  away,  and  they  did  it  with  shame-hidden  faces, 
while  rude  comrades  chaffed  and  jeered  and  even  shouted 


284  AN  APACHE  PRINCESS 

laughing  encouragement  to  the  girl,  whose  screams  of 
rage  had  drawn  all  Camp  Sandy  to  the  scene.  One  doc 
tor,  two  men,  and  the  steward  went  with  their  groaning 
burden  one  way  to  the  hospital.  One  officer,  one  ser 
geant,  and  half  a  dozen  men  had  all  they  could  do  to  take 
their  raging  charge  another  way  to  the  guard-house.  Ah, 
Plume,  you  might  have  spared  that  brave  girl  such  indig 
nity!  But,  where  one  face  followed  the  wounded  man 
with  sympathetic  eyes,  there  were  twenty  that  never 
turned  from  the  Indian  girl  until  her  screams  were  dead 
ened  by  the  prison  doors. 

"  She  stabbed  a  soldier  who  meant  her  no  harm/'  was 
Plume's  sullen  and  stubborn  answer  to  all  appeals,  for 
good  and  gentle  women  went  to  him,  begging  permission 
to  go  to  her.  It  angered  him  presently  to  the  extent  of 
repeating  his  words  with  needless  emphasis  and  additions 
when  Mother  Shaughnessy  came  to  make  her  special  ap 
peal.  Shure  she  had  learned  how  to  care  for  these  poor 
creatures,  was  her  claim,  along  o'  having  little  Paquita  on 
her  hands  so  many  days,  "  and  now  that  poor  girl  beyant 
will  be  screaming  herself  into  fits !  " 

"  Let  her  scream,"  said  Plume,  unstrung  and  shaken, 
"  but  hold  you  your  tongue  or  I'll  find  a  separate  cell  for 
you.  No  woman  shall  be  knifing  my  men,  and  go  un 
punished,  if  I  can  help  it,"  and  so  saying  he  turned  wrath- 
fully  from  her. 

"  Heard  you  that  now  ?  "  stormed  Mother  Shaughnessy, 
as  he  strode  away.  "  Who  but  he  has  helped  his  women 
to  go  unpunished "  and  the  words  were  out  and  heard 


RESCUE  REQUITED  286 

before  the  sergeant  major  could  spring  and  silence  her. 
Before  another  day  they  were  echoing  all  over  the  post — 
were  on  their  way  to  Prescott,  even,  and  meeting,  almost 
at  the  northward  gateway,  the  very  women  the  raging 
laundress  meant.  Of  her  own  free  will  Clarice  Plume 
was  once  again  at  Sandy,  bringing  with  her,  sorely  against 
the  will  of  either,  but  because  a  stronger  will  would  have 
it  so — and  sent  his  guards  to  see  to  it — a  cowed  and  scared 
and  semi-silent  companion  of  whom  much  ill  was  spoken 
now  about  the  garrison — Elise  Lebrun. 

The  news  threw  Norah  Shaughnessy  nearly  into 
spasms.  "  'Twas  she  that  knifed  Pat  Mullins !  "  she  cried. 
"  'Twas  she  drove  poor  Downs  to  dhrink  and  desartion. 
Twas  she  set  Carmody  and  Shannon  to  cuttin'  each  other's 
throats  " — which  was  news  to  a  garrison  that  had  seen 
the  process  extend  no  further  than  to  each  other's  acquaint 
ance.  And  more  and  stormier  words  the  girl  went  on  to 
say  concerning  the  commander's  household  until  Mullins 
himself  mildly  interposed.  But  all  these  things  were 
being  told  about  the  garrison,  from  which  Lola  and 
Alchisay  had  fled  in  terror  to  spread  the  tidings  that  their 
princess  was  a  prisoner  behind  the  bars.  These  were 
things  that  were  being  told,  too,  to  the  men  of  Sanders's 
returning  troop  before  they  were  fairly  unsaddled  at  the 
stables ;  and  that  night,  before  ever  he  sought  his  soldier 
pillow,  Shannon  had  been  to  "  C  "  Troop's  quarters  in 
search  of  Trooper  Stern  and  had  wrung  from  him  all  that 
he  could  tell  of  Carmody's  last  fight  on  earth — of  his  last 
words  to  Lieutenant  Blakely. 


286  AN  APACHE  PRINCESS 

Meantime  a  sorely  troubled  man  was  Major  Plume. 
That  his  wife  would  have  to  return  to  Sandy  he  had 
learned  from  the  lips  of  Colonel  Byrne  himself.  Her  own 
good  name  had  been  involved,  and  could  only  be  com 
pletely  cleared  when  Wren  and  Blakely  were  sufficiently 
recovered  to  testify,  and  when  Mullins  should  be  so  thor 
oughly  restored  as  to  be  fit  for  close  cross-examination. 
Plume  could  in  no  wise  connect  his  beloved  wife  with 
either  the  murderous  assault  on  Mullins  or  the  mysterious 
firing  of  Blakely's  quarters,  but  he  knew  that  Sandy  could 
not  so  readily  acquit  her,  even  though  it  might  saddle  the 
actual  deed  upon  her  instrument — Elise.  He  had  ordered 
that  Blakely  should  be  brought  to  his  own  quarters  be 
cause  there  he  could  not  be  reached  by  any  who  were  un 
acceptable  to  himself,  the  post  commander.  There  were 
many  things  he  wished  to  know  about  and  from  Blakely's 
lips  alone.  He  could  not  stoop  to  talk  with  other  men 
about  the  foibles  of  his  wife.  He  knew  that  iron  box  in 
Truman's  care  contained  papers,  letters,  or  something  of 
deep  interest  to  her.  He  knew  full  well  now  that,  at  some 
time  in  the  not  far  distant  past,  Blakely  himself  had  been 
of  deep  interest  to  her  and  she  to  Blakely.  He  had 
Blakely's  last  letter  to  himself,  written  just  before  the 
lonely  start  in  quest  of  Angela,  but  that  letter  made  no 
reference  to  the  contents  of  the  box  or  to  anything  con 
cerning  their  past.  He  had  heard  that  Wales  Arnold  had 
been  intrusted  with  letters  for  Blakely  to  Clarice,  his  wife, 
and  to  Captain,  or  Miss  Janet,  Wren.  Arnold  had  not 
been  entirely  silent  on  the  subject.  He  did  not  too  much 


RESCUE  REQUITED  287 

like  the  major,  and  rather  rejoiced  in  this  opportunity 
to  show  his  independence  of  him.  Plume  had  gone  so  far 
as  to  ask  Arnold  whether  such  letters  had  been  intrusted 
to  him,  and  Wales  said,  yes;  but,  now  that  Blakely  was 
safely  back  and  probably  going  to  pull  through,  he  should 
return  the  letters  to  the  writer  as  soon  as  the  writer  was 
well  enough  to  appreciate  what  was  being  done.  Last, 
but  not  least,  Plume  had  picked  up  near  the  door  in 
Blakely's  room  the  circular,  nearly  flat,  leather-covered 
case  which  had  dropped,  apparently,  from  Natzie's  gown, 
and,  as  it  had  neither  lock  nor  latch,  Plume  had  opened  it 
to  examine  its  contents. 

To  his  surprise  it  contained  a  beautifully  executed 
miniature,  a  likeness  of  a  fair  young  girl,  with  soft  blue 
eyes  and  heavy,  arching  brows,  a  delicately  molded  face 
and  mouth  and  chin,  all  framed  in  a  tumbling  mass  of 
tawny  hair.  It  was  the  face  of  a  child  of  twelve  or  thir 
teen,  one  that  he  had  never  seen  and  of  whom  he  knew 
nothing.  Neither  cover,  backing,  nor  case  of  the  minia 
ture  gave  the  faintest  clew  as  to  its  original  or  as  to  its 
ownership.  What  was  Natzie  doing  with  this? — and  to 
whom  did  it  belong  ?  A  little  study  satisfied  him  there  was 
something  familiar  in  the  face,  yet  he  could  not  place  it. 

The  very  night  of  her  coming,  therefore,  he  told  his 
wife  the  story  and  handed  her  the  portrait.  One  glance 
was  enough.  "  I  know  it,  yes,"  said  Mrs.  Plume, 
"  though  I,  too,  have  never  seen  her.  She  died  the  winter 
after  it  was  taken.  It  is  Mr.  Blakely's  sister,  Ethel,"  and 
Mrs.  Plume  sat  gazing  at  the  sweet  girl  features,  with 


288  AN  APACHE  PRINCESS 

strange  emotion  in  her  aging  face.  There  was  something 
— some  story — behind  all  this  that  Plume  could  not 
fathom,  and  it  nettled  him.  Perhaps  he,  too,  was  yielding 
to  a  fit  of  nerves.  Elise,  the  maid,  had  been  remanded  to 
her  room,  and  could  be  heard  moving  about  with  heavy, 
yet  uncertain  tread.  "  She  is  right  over  Blakely,"  quoth 
the  major  impatiently.  "  Why  can't  the  girl  be  quiet?  ' 

"  Why  did  you  bring  him  here,  then  ?  "  was  the  weary 
answer.  "  I  cannot  control  Elise.  They  have  treated 
her  most  cruelly." 

"  There  are  things  you  cannot  explain  and  that  she 
must,"  said  he,  and  then,  to  change  the  subject,  stretched 
forth  his  hand  to  take  again  the  picture.  She  drew  it 
back  one  moment,  then,  remembering,  surrendered  it. 

"  You  saw  this  in — St.  Louis,  I  suppose,"  said  he 
awkwardly.  He  never  could  bear  to  refer  to  those  days 
— the  days  before  he  had  come  into  her  life. 

"  Not  that  perhaps,  but  the  photograph  from  which  it 
was  probably  painted.  She  was  his  only  sister.  He  was 
educating  her  in  the  East."  And  again  her  thoughts 
were  drifting  back  to  those  St.  Louis  days,  when,  but  for 
the  girl  sister  he  so  loved,  she  and  Neil  Blakely  had  been 
well-nigh  inseparable.  Someone  had  said  then,  she  re 
membered,  that  she  was  jealous  even  of  that  love. 

And  now  again  her  husband  was  gazing  fixedly  at  the 
portrait,  a  light  coming  into  his  lined  and  anxious  face. 
Blakely  had  always  carried  this  miniature  with  him,  for 
he  now  remembered  that  the  agent,  Daly,  had  spoken  of 
it.  Natzie  and  others  might  well  have  seen  it  at  the  reser- 


RESCUE  REQUITED  289 

vation.  The  agent's  wife  had  often  seen  it  and  had 
spoken  of  his  sorrow  for  the  sister  he  had  lost.  The 
picture,  she  said,  stood  often  on  his  little  camp  table. 
Every  Indian  who  entered  his  tent  knew  it  and  saw  it. 
Why,  surely;  Natzie,  too,  mused  the  major,  and  then 
aloud : 

"  I  can  see  now  what  we  have  all  been  puzzling  over. 
Angela  Wren  might  well  have  looked  like  this — four 
years  ago." 

"  There  is  not  the  faintest  resemblance,"  said  Clarice, 
promptly  rising  and  quitting  the  room. 

It  developed  with  another  day  that  Mrs.  Plume  had  no 
desire  to  see  Miss  Wren,  the  younger.  She  expressed 
none,  indeed,  when  policy  and  the  manners  of  good  so 
ciety  really  required  it.  Miss  Janet  had  come  in  with 
Mrs.  Graham  and  Mrs.  Sanders  to  call  upon  the  wife  of 
4ie  commanding  officer  and  say  what  words  of  welcome 
were  possible  as  appropriate  to  her  return.  "  And  An 
gela,"  said  Janet,  for  reasons  of  her  own,  "  will  be  com 
ing  later."  There  was  no  response,  nor  was  there  to  the 
next  tentative.  The  ladies  thought  Mrs.  Plume  should 
join  forces  with  them  and  take  Natzie  out  of  the  single 
cell  she  occupied.  "  Can  she  not  be  locked  at  the  hospital, 
under  the  eye  of  the  matron,  with  double  sentries  ?  It  is 
hard  to  think  of  her  barred  in  that  hideous  place  with 
Apache  prisoners  and  rude  men  all  about  her."  But 
again  was  Mrs.  Plume  unresponsive.  She  would  say  no 
word  of  interest  in  either  Angela  or  Natzie.  At  the  mo 
ment  when  her  husband  was  in  melting  mood  and  when 


290  AN  APACHE  PRINCESS 

a  hint  from  her  lips  would  have  secured  the  partial  re 
lease  of  the  Indian  girl,  the  hint  was  withheld.  It  would 
have  been  better  for  her,  for  her  husband,  for  more  than 
one  brave  lad  on  guard,  had  the  major's  wife  seen  fit  to 
speak,  but  she  would  not. 

So  that  evening  brought  release  that,  in  itself,  brought 
much  relief  to  the  commanding  officer  and  the  friends 
who  still  stood  by  him. 

Thirty-six  hours  now  had  Natzie  been  a  prisoner  behind 
the  bars,  and  no  one  of  those  we  know  had  seen  her  face. 
At  tattoo  the  drums  and  fifes  began  their  sweet,  old- 
fashioned  soldier  tunes.  The  guard  turned  out;  the 
officer  of  the  day  buckled  his  belt  with  a  sigh  and  started 
forth  to  inspect,  just  as  the  foremost  soldiers  appeared  on 
the  porch  in  front,  buttoning  their  coats  and  adjusting 
their  belts  and  slings.  Half  their  number  began  to  form 
ranks ;  the  other  half  "  stood  by,"  within  the  main  room, 
to  pass  out  the  prisoners,  many  of  whom  wore  a  clanking 
chain.  All  on  a  sudden  there  arose  a  wild  clamor — shouts, 
scuffling,  the  thunder  of  iron  upon  resounding  woodwork, 
hoarse  orders,  curses,  shrieks,  a  yell  for  help,  a  shot,  a 
mad  scurry  of  many  feet,  furious  cries  of  "  Head  'em  off !  " 
"  Shoot !  "  "  No,  no,  don't  shoot !  You'll  kill  our  own !  " 
A  dim  cloud  of  ghostly,  shadowy  forms  went  tearing  away 
down  the  slope  toward  the  south.  There  followed  a  tre 
mendous  rush  of  troop  after  troop,  company  after  com 
pany, — the  whole  force  of  Camp  Sandy  in  uproarious 
pursuit, — until  in  the  dim  starlight  the  barren  flats  below 
the  post,  the  willow  patches  along  the  stream,  the  plashing 


RESCUE  REQUITED  291 

waters  of  the  ford,  the  still  and  glassy  surface  of  the 
shadowy  pool,  were  speedily  all  alive  with  dark  and  dart 
ing  forms  intermingled  in  odd  confusion.  From  the  east 
ward  side,  from  officers'  row,  Plume  and  his  white-coated 
subordinates  hastened  to  the  southward  face,  realizing  in 
stantly  what  must  have  occurred— the  long-prophesied 
rush  of  Apache  prisoners  for  freedom.  Yet  how  hope 
less,  how  mad,  how  utterly  absurd  was  the  effort !  What 
earthly  chance  had  they— poor,  manacled,  shackled,  ball- 
burdened  wretches— to  escape  from  two  hundred  fleet- 
footed,  unhampered,  stalwart  young  soldiery,  rejoicing 
really  in  the  fun  and  excitement  of  the  thing?  One  after 
another  the  shackled  fugitives  were  run  down  and  over 
hauled,  some  not  half  across  the  parade,  some  in  the 
shadows  of  the  office  and  storehouses,  some  down  among 
the  shrubbery  toward  the  lighted  store,  some  among  the 
shanties  of  Sudsville,  some,  lightest  weighted  of  all,  far 
away  as  the  lower  pool,  and  so  one  after  another,  the 
grimy,  sullen,  swarthy  lot  were  slowly  lugged  back  to  the 
unsavory  precincts  wherein,  for  long  woeks  and  months, 
they  had  slept  or  -stealthily  communed  through  the  hours 
of  the  night.  Three  or  four  had  been  cut  or  slashed. 
Three  or  four  soldiers  had  serious  hurts,  scratches  or 
bruises  as  their  fruits  of  the  affray.  But  after  all,  the 
malefactors,  miscreants,  and  incorrigibles  of  the  Apache 
tribe  had  profited  little  by  their  wild  and  defiant  essay- 
profited  little,  that  is,  if  personal  freedom  was  what  they 
sought. 
But  was  it?  said  wise  heads  of  the  garrison,  as  they 


292  AN  APACHE  PRINCESS 

looked  the  situation  over.  Shannon  and  some  of  his  ilk 
were  doing  much  independent  trailing  by  aid  of  their  lan 
terns.  Taps  should  have  been  sounded  at  ten,  but  wasn't 
by  any  means,  for  "  lights  out "  was  the  last  thing  to  be 
thought  of.  Little  by  little  it  dawned  upon  Plume  and 
his  supporters  that,  instead  of  scattering,  as  Indian  tactics 
demanded  on  all  previous  exploits  of  the  kind,  there  had 
been  one  grand,  concerted  rush  to  the  southward — 
planned,  doubtless,  for  the  purpose  of  drawing  the  whole 
garrison  thither  in  pursuit,  while  three  pairs  of  moccasined 
feet  slipped  swiftly  around  to  the  rear  of  the  guard-house, 
out  beyond  the  dim  corrals,  and  around  to  a  point  back  of 
"  C  "  Troop  stables,  where  other  little  hoofs  had  been  im 
patiently  tossing  up  the  sands  until  suddenly  loosed  and 
sent  bounding  away  to  where  the  North  Star  hung  low 
over  the  sheeny  white  mantle  of  San  Francisco  mountain. 
Natzie,  the  girl  queen,  was  gone  from  the  guard-house: 
Punch,  the  Lady  Angela's  pet  pony,  was  gone  from  the 
corral,  and  who  would  say  there  had  not  been  collusion  ? 

"  One  thing  is  certain,"  said  the  grave-faced  post  com 
mander,  as,  with  his  officers,  he  left  the  knot  of  troopers 
and  troopers'  wives  hovering  late  about  the  guard-house, 
"  one  thing  is  certain ;  with  Wren's  own  troopers  hot  on 
the  heels  of  Angela's  pony  we'll  have  our  Apache  princess 
back,  sure  as  the  morning  sun." 

"  Like  hell !  "  said  Mother  Shaughnessy. 


CHAPTER  XXVI 


MORE  morning  suns  than  could  be  counted  in 
the  field  of  the  flag  had  come,  and  gone,  but 
not  a  sign  of  Natzie.  Wren's  own  troopers, 
hot  on  Punch's  flashing  heels,  were  cooling  their  own  as 
best  they  could  through  the  arid  days  that  followed. 
Wren  himself  was  now  recovered  sufficiently  to  be  told  of 
much  that  had  been  going  on, — not  all, — and  it  was  Angela 
who  constantly  hovered  about  him,  for  Janet  was  taking 
a  needed  rest.  Blakely,  too,  was  on  the  mend,  sitting 
up  hours  of  every  day  and  "  being  very  lovely "  in 
manner  to  all  the  Sanders  household,  for  thither  had  he 
demanded  to  be  moved  even  sooner  than  it  was  prudent 
to  move  him  at  all.  Go  he  would,  and  Graham  had  to 
order  it.  Pat  Mullins  was  once  again  "  for  duty."  Even 
Todd,  the  bewildered  victim  of  Natzie's  knife,  was 
stretching  his  legs  on  the  hospital  porch.  There  had 
come  a  lull  in  all  martial  proceedings  at  the  post,  and  only 
two  sensations.  One  of  these  latter  was  the  formal  in 
vestigation  by  the  inspector  general  of  the  conditions 
surrounding  the  stabbing  at  Camp  Sandy  of  Privates 
Mullins  and  Todd  of  the  — th  U.  S.  Cavalry.  The  other 
was  the  discovery,  one  bright,  brilliant,  winter  morning 
that  Natzie's  friend  and  savior,  Angela's  Punch,  was 

293 


294  AN  APACHE  PRINCESS 

back  in  his  stall,  looking  every  bit  as  saucy  and  "  fit "  as 
ever  he  did  in  his  life.  What  surprised  many  folk  in  the 
garrison  was  that  it  surprised  Angela  not  at  all.  "  I 
thought  Punch  would  come  back,"  said  she,  in  demure 
unconcern,  and  the  girls  at  least,  began  to  understand, 
and  were  wild  to  question.  Only  Kate  Sanders,  however, 
knew  how  welcome  was  the  pet  pony's  coming.  But 
what  had  come  that  was  far  from  welcome  was  a  cold 
ness  between  Angela  and  Kate  Sanders. 

Byrne  himself  had  arrived,  and  the  "  inquisition  "  had 
begun.  No  examinations  under  oath,  no  laborious  re 
cordings  of  question  and  answer,  no  crowd  of  curious 
listeners.  The  veteran  inspector  took  each  man  in  turn 
and  heard  his  tale  and  jotted  down  his  notes,  and,  where 
he  thought  it  wise,  cross-questioned  over  and  again. 
One  after  another,  Truman  and  Todd,  Wren  and  Mul- 
lins,  told  their  stories,  bringing  forth  little  that  was  new 
beyond  the  fact  that  Todd  was  sure  it  was  Elise  he  heard 
that  night  "  jabbering  with  Downs  "  on  Blakely's  porch. 
Todd  felt  sure  that  it  was  she  who  brought  him  whisky, 
and  Byrne  let  him  prattle  on.  It  was  not  evidence,  yet 
it  might  lead  the  way  to  light.  In  like  manner  was  Mul- 
lins  sure  now  "  'Twas  two  ladies  "  stabbed  him  when  he 
would  have  striven  to  stop  the  foremost.  Byrne  asked  did 
he  think  they  were  ladies  when  first  he  set  eyes  on  them, 
and  Pat  owned  up  that  he  thought  it  was  some  of  the  girls 
from  Sudsville;  it  might  even  be  Norah  as  one  of  them, 
coming  home  late  from  the  laundresses'  quarters,  and 
trying  to  play  him  a  trick.  He  owned  to  it  that  he 


"  WOMAN-WALK-NO-MORE  "  295 

grabbed  the  foremost,  seeing  at  that  moment  no  other,  and 
thinking  to  win  the  forfeit  of  a  kiss,  and  Byrne  gravely 
assured  him  'twas  no  shame  in  it,  so  long  as  Norah  never 
found  it  out. 

But  Byrne  asked  Plume  two  questions  that  puzzled 
and  worried  him  greatly.  How  much  whisky  had  he 
missed?  and  how  much  opium  could  have  been  given 
him  the  night  of  Mrs.  Plume's  unconscious  escapade? 
The  major  well  remembered  that  his  demijohn  had 
grown  suddenly  light,  and  that  he  had  found  him 
self  surprisingly  heavy,  dull,  and  drowsy.  The  retrospect 
added  to  his  gloom  and  depression.  Byrne  had  not  re- 
occupied  his  old  room  at  Plume's,  now  that  madame  and 
Elise  were  once  more  under  the  major's  roof,  and  even 
in  extending  the  customary  invitation,  Plume  felt  confi 
dent  that  Byrne  could  not  and  should  not  accept.  The 
position  he  had  taken  with  regard  to  Elise,  her  lady 
ship's  companion  and  confidante,  was  sufficient  in  itself  to 
make  him,  in  the  eyes  of  that  lady,  an  unacceptable  guest, 
but  it  never  occurred  to  her,  although  it  had  to  Plume, 
that  there  might  be  even  deeper  reasons.  Then,  too,  the 
relations  between  the  commander  and  the  inspector,  al 
though  each  was  scrupulously  courteous,  were  now  neces 
sarily  strained.  Plume  could  not  but  feel  that  his  con 
duct  of  post  affairs  was  in  a  measure  a  matter  of 
scrutiny.  He  knew  that  his  treatment  of  Natzie  was 
disapproved  by  nine  out  of  ten  of  his  command.  He 
felt,  rather  than  knew,  that  some  of  his  people  had  con 
nived  at  her  escape,  and  though  that  escape  had  been  a 


296  AN  APACHE  PRINCESS 

relief  to  everybody  at  Sandy,  the  manner  of  her  taking 
off  was  to  him  a  mystery  and  a  rankling  sore. 

Last  man  to  be  examined  was  Blakely,  and  now  indeed 
there  was  light.  He  had  been  sitting  up  each  day  for  sev 
eral  hours ;  his  wounds  were  healing  well ;  the  fever  and 
prostration  that  ensued  had  left  him  weak  and  very  thin 
and  pale,  but  he  had  the  soldier's  best  medicine — the  con 
sciousness  of  duties  thoroughly  and  well  performed.  He 
knew  that,  though  Wren  might  carry  his  personal  an 
tipathy  to  the  extent  of  official  injustice,  as  officers  higher 
in  rank  than  Wren  have  been  known  to  do,  the  truth  con 
cerning  the  recent  campaign  must  come  to  light,  and  his 
connection  therewith  be  made  a  matter  of  record,  as  it 
was  already  a  matter  of  fact.  Wren  had  not  yet  submit 
ted  his  written  report.  Wren  and  the  post  commander 
were  still  on  terms  severely  official ;  but,  to  the  few 
brother  officers  witti  whom  the  captain  talked  at  all  upon 
the  stirring  events  through  which  he  and  his  troop  had  so 
recently  passed,  he  had  made  little  mention  of  Blakely. 
Not  so,  however,  the  men;  not  so  Wales  Arnold,  the 
ranchman.  To  hear  these  worthies  talk,  the  Bugologist, 
next  to  "  Princess  Natzie,"  was  the  central  figure  of  the 
Red  Rock  campaign — the  one  officer,  "  where  all  had 
done  so  well,"  whose  deeds  merited  conspicuous  mention. 
Byrne  knew  this  better  than  Wren.  Plume  knew  it  not 
as  well  as  Byrne,  perhaps.  Sanders,  Lynn,  and  Duane 
had  heard  the  soldier  stories  in  a  dozen  ways,  and  it 
stung  them  that  their  regimental  comrade  should  so  dog 
gedly  refuse  to  open  his  lips  and  give  Blakely  his  due. 


"  WOMAN-WALK-NO-MORE  "  297 

It  is  not  silence  that  usually  hurts  a  man,  it  is  speech ;  yet 
here  was  a  case  to  the  contrary. 

Now  just  in  proportion  as  the  Wrens  would  have  noth 
ing  to  say  in  praise  of  Blakely,  the  Sanders  household 
would  have  nothing  but  praise  to  say.  Kate's  honest 
heart  was  hot  with  anger  at  Angela,  because  the  girl 
shrank  from  the  subject  as  she  would  from  evil  speaking, 
lying,  and  slandering,  and  here  again,  to  paraphrase  the 
Irishman,  too  much  heat  had  produced  the  coldness 
already  referred  to.  Sanders  scoffed  at  the  idea  of  Nat- 
zie's  infatuation  being  sufficient  ground  for  family  ostra 
cism.  "  If  there  is  a  man  alive  who  owes  more  than 
Wren  does  to  Blakely,  I'm  a  crab,"  said  he,  "  and  as  soon 
as  he's  well  enough  to  listen  to  straight  talk  he'll  get  it 
from  me."  "  If  there's  a  girl  in  America  as  heartless  as 
Angela  Wren,"  said  Mrs.  Sanders,  "  I  hope  I  never  shall 
have  to  meet  her."  But  then  Mrs.  Sanders,  as  we  know, 
had  ever  been  jealous  of  Angela  on  account  of  her  own 
true-hearted  Kate,  who  refused  to  say  one  word  on  the 
subject  beyond  what  she  said  to  Angela  herself.  And 
now  they  had  propped  their  patient  in  his  reclining-chair 
and  arranged  the  little  table  for  "  the  inquisitor  general," 
as  Mrs.  Bridger  preferred  to  refer  to  him,  and  left  them 
alone  together  behind  closed  doors,  and  had  then  gone 
forth  to  find  that  all  Camp  Sandy  seemed  to  wait  with 
bated  breath  for  the  outcome  of  that  interview. 

Sooner  than  was  believed  possible  it  came.  An  hour, 
probably,  before  they  thought  the  colonel  could  have 
gathered  all  he  wished  to  know,  that  officer  was  on  the 


298  AN  APACHE  PRINCESS 

front  piazza  and  sending  an  orderly  to  the  adjutant's 
office.  Then  came  Major  Plume,  with  quick  and  nervous 
step.  There  was  a  two-minute  conference  on  the  piazza ; 
then  both  officers  vanished  within,  were  gone  five  min 
utes,  and  then  Plume  reappeared  alone,  went  straight  to 
his  home,  and  slammed  the  door  behind  him,  a  solecism 
rarely  known  at  Sandy,  and  presently  on  the  hot  and 
pulseless  air  there  arose  the  sound  of  shrill  protestation 
in  strange  vernacular.  Even  Wren  heard  the  voice,  and 
found  something  reminiscent  in  the  sound  of  weeping  and 
wailing  that  followed.  The  performer  was  unquestion 
ably  Elise — she  that  had  won  the  ponderous,  yet  descrip 
tive,  Indian  name  "  Woman- Walk-in-the-Night." 

And  while  this  episode  was  still  unexpired  the  orderly 
went  for  Lieutenant  Truman,  and  Truman,  with  two  or 
derlies,  for  a  box,  a  bulky  little  chest,  strapped  heavily 
with  iron,  and  this  they  lugged  into  Sanders's  hall  and 
came  out  heated  and  mystified.  Three  hours  later,  close- 
veiled  and  in  droopy  desolation,  "  Mademoiselle  Lebrun  " 
was  bundled  into  a  waiting  ambulance  and  started  under 
sufficient  escort,  and  the  care  of  the  hospital  matron, 
en  route  for  Prescott,  while  Dr.  Graham  was  summoned 
to  attend  Mrs.  Plume,  and  grimly  went.  "  The  mean 
part  of  the  whole  business,"  said  Mrs.  Bridger,  "  is  that 
nobody  knows  what  it  means."  There  was  no  one  along 
the  line,  except  poor  Mrs.  Plume,  to  regret  that  sudden 
and  enforced  departure,  but  there  was  regret  universal 
all  over  the  post  when  it  was  learned,  still  later  in  the 
afternoon,  that  one  of  the  best  soldiers  and  sergeants  in 


"  WOMAN- WALK-NO-MORE  "  299 

the  entire  garrison  had  taken  the  horse  of  one  of  the  herd 
guard  and  galloped  away  on  the  trail  o<f  the  banished  one. 
Sergeant  Shannon,  at  sunset  parade,  was  reported  absent 
without  leave. 

Major  Plume  had  come  forth  from  his  quarters  at  the 
sounding  of  the  retreat,  accurately  dressed  as  ever,  white- 
gloved,  and  wearing  his  saber.  He  seemed  to  realize 
that  all  eyes  would  be  upon  him.  He  had,  indeed,  been 
tempted  again  to  turn  over  the  command  to  the  senior 
captain,  but  wisely  thought  better  of  it,  and  determined 
to  face  the  music.  He  looked  very  sad  and  gray,  how 
ever.  He  returned  scrupulously  the  salute  of  the  four 
company  commanders  as,  in  turn,  each  came  forward  to 
report  the  result  of  the  evening  roll-call;  Cutler  and 
Westervelt  first,  their  companies  being  the  nearest,  then 
Lieutenant  Lynn,  temporarily  in  charge  of  Wren's  troop, 
its  captain  and  first  lieutenant  being  still  "  on  sick  re 
port."  The  sight  of  this  young  officer  set  the  major  to 
thinking  of  that  evening  not  so  many  moons  agone  when 
Captain  Wren  himself  appeared  and  in  resonant,  far- 
carrying  tone  announced  "  Lieutenant  Blakely,  sir,  is 
absent."  He  had  been  thinking  much  of  Blakely  through 
the  solemn  afternoon,  as  he  wandered  nervously  about  his 
darkened  quarters,  sometimes  tiptoeing  to  the  bedside  of 
his  feebly  moaning,  petulant  wife,  sometimes  pacing  the 
library  and  hall.  He  had  been  again  for  half  an  hour 
closeted  with  Byrne  and  the  Bugologist,  certain  letters 
being  under  inspection.  He  hardly  heard  the  young  of 
ficer,  Lynn,  as  he  said  "  Troop  '  C,'  all  present,  sir."  He 


300  AN  APACHE  PRINCESS 

was  looking  beyond  him  at  Captain  Sanders,  coming 
striding  over  the  barren  parade,  with  import  in  his  eye. 
Plume  felt  that  there  was  trouble  ahead  before  ever  San 
ders  reached  the  prescribed  six  paces,  halted,  raised  his 
hand  in  salute,  and,  just  as  did  Wren  on  that  earlier  occa 
sion,  announced  in  tones  intended  to  be  heard  over  and 
beyond  the  post  commander :  "  Sergeant  Shannon,  sir, 
with  one  government  horse,  absent  without  leave." 

Plume  went  a  shade  white,  and  bit  his  lips  before  he 
could  steady  himself  to  question.  Well  he  knew  that 
this  new  devilment  was  due  in  some  way  to  that  spirit  of 
evil  so  long  harbored  by  his  wife,  and  suffered  by  him 
self.  All  the  story  of  the  strife  she  had  stirred  in  the  gar 
rison  had  reached  him  days  before.  Downs's  drunken 
ness  and  desertion,  beyond  doubt,  were  chargeable  to  her, 
as  well  as  another  and  worse  crime,  unless  all  indications 
were  at  fault.  Then  there  was  the  breach  between  Car- 
mody  and  Shannon,  formerly  stanch  friends  and  com 
rades,  and  now  Carmody  lay  buried  beneath  the  rocks  in 
Bear  Canon,  and  Shannon,  as  gallant  and  useful  a  ser 
geant  as  ever  served,  had  thrown  to  the  winds  his  record 
of  the  past  and  his  hopes  for  the  future,  and  gone  in  mad 
pursuit  of  a  worthless  hoyden.  And  all  because  Clarice 
would  have  that  woman  with  her  wherever  she  might  go. 

"  When  did  this  happen  ?  "  he  presently  asked. 

"  Just  after  stable  call,  sir.  The  horses  were  all  re 
turned  to  the  corral  except  the  herd  guard's.  The  men 
marched  over,  as  usual,  with  their  halters.  Shannon  fell 
out  as  they  entered  the  gate,  took  young  Bennett's  rein 


"  WOMAN-WALK-NO-MORE  "  301 

as  he  stood  ready  to  lead  in  after  them,  mounted  and  rode 
round  back  of  the  wall,  leaving  Bennett  so  surprised  that 
he  didn't  know  what  to  say.  He  never  suspected  any 
thing  wrong  until  Shannon  failed  to  reappear.  Then  he 
followed  round  back  of  the  corral,  found  the  sergeant's 
stable  frock  lying  halfway  out  toward  the  bluff,  and  saw 
a  streak  of  dust  toward  Bowlder  Point.  Then  he  came 
and  reported." 

Plume,  after  a  moment's  silence,  turned  abruptly.  He 
had  suffered  much  that  day,  and  to  think  of  his  wife  lying 
stricken  and  whimpering,  professing  herself  a  sorely  in 
jured  woman  because  compelled  at  last  to  part  with  her 
maid,  angered  him  beyond  the  point  of  toleration.  Toss 
ing  his  saber  to  the  China  boy,  he  went  straightway  aloft, 
failing  to  note  in  the  dim  light  that  two  soft-hearted 
sympathizers  were  cooing  by  the  gentle  sufferer's 
side. 

"  Well,  Clarice,"  he  broke  in  abruptly,  "  we  are  never 
to  hear  the  end  of  that  she-cat's  doings !  My  best  ser 
geant  has  stolen  a  horse  and  gone  galloping  after  her." 
It  is  always  our  best  we  lose  when  our  better  half  is  to 
blame,  nor  is  it  the  way  of  brutal  man  to  minimize  the 
calamity  on  such  occasions.  It  did  not  better  matters 
that  her  much-wronged  ladyship  should  speedily  reply: 
"  It's  a  wonder  you  don't  charge  the  Indian  outbreak  to 
poor  Elise.  I  don't  believe  she  had  a  thing  to  do  with 
your  sergeant's  stealing." 

"  You  wouldn't  believe  she  stole  my  whisky  and  gave 
it  to  Downs,  though  you  admitted  she  told  you  she  had 


302  AN  APACHE  PRINCESS 

to  go  back  that  night  for  something  she'd  dropped.  You 
wouldn't  believe  she  married  that  rascally  gambler  at  St. 
Louis  before  her  first  husband  was  out  of  the  way !  You 
shielded  and  swore  by  her,  and  brought  her  out  here,  and 
all  the  time  the  proofs  were  here  in  Blakely's  hands.  It 
was  she,  I  suppose,  who  broke  off " 

But  here,  indeed,  was  it  high  time  to  break  off.  The 
visitors  were  now  visibly  rising  in  all  proper  embarrass 
ment,  for  Mrs.  Plume  had  started  up,  with  staring  eyes. 
"  Proofs !  "  she  cried,  "  in  Blakely's  hands !  Why,  she 

told  me — my  own  letters! — my "  And  then  brutal 

man  was  brought  to  his  senses  and  made  to  see  how 
heartless  and  cruel  was  his  conduct,  for  Mrs.  Plume  went 
into  a  fit  and  Mrs.  Lynn  for  the  doctor. 

That  was  a  wild  night  at  Sandy.  Two  young  matrons 
had  made  up  their  minds  that  it  was  shameful  to  leave 
poor  Mrs.  Plume  without  anybody  to  listen  to  her,  when 
she  might  so  long  .for  sympathetic  hearers,  and  have  so 
much  to  tell.  They  had  entered  as  soon  as  the  major 
came  forth  and,  softly  tapping  at  the  stricken  one's  door, 
had  been  with  her  barely  five  minutes  when  he  came  tear 
ing  back,  and  all  this  tremendous  scene  occurred  before 
they  could  put  in  a  word  to  prevent,  which,  of  course, 
they  were  dying  to  do.  But  what  hadn't  they  heard  in 
that  swift  moment !  Between  the  two  of  them — and  Mrs. 
Bridger  was  the  other — their  agitation  was  such  that  it 
all  had  to  be  told.  Then,  like  the  measles,  one  revelation 
led  to  another,  but  it  was  several  days  before  the  garrison 
settled  down  in  possession  of  an  array  of  facts  sufficient 


"  WOMAN-WALK-NO-MORE  »  303 

to  keep  it  in  gossip  for  many  a  month.     Meanwhile,  many 
a  change  had  come  over  the  scene. 

At  Prescott,  then  the  Territorial  capital,  Elise  Layton, 
nee  Lebrun,  was  held  without  bail  because  it  couldn't  be 
had,  charged  with  obtaining  money  under  false  pretenses, 
bigamy  as  a  side  issue,  and  arson  as  a  possible  backstop. 
The  sleep-walking  theory,  as  advanced  in  favor  of  Mrs. 
Plume,  had  been  reluctantly  abandoned,  it  appearing  that, 
however  dazed  and  "  doped  "  she  may  have  been  through 
the  treatment  of  that  deft-fingered,  unscrupulous  maid, 
she  was  sufficiently  wide  awake  to  know  well  whither  she 
had  gone  at  that  woman's  urging,  to  make  a  last  effort  to 
recover  certain  letters  of  vital  importance.  At  Blakely's 
door  Clarice  had  "  lost  her  nerve  "  and  insisted  on  return 
ing,  but  not  so  Elise.  She  went  again,  and  had  well-nigh 
gotten  Downs  drunk  enough  to  do  as  she  demanded. 
Frankly,  sadly,  Plume  went  to  Blakely,  told  him  of  his 
wife's  admissions,  and  asked  him  what  papers  of  hers  he 
retained.  For  a  moment  Blakely  had  blazed  with  indig 
nation,  but  Plume's  sorrow,  and  utter  innocence  of  wrong 
intent,  stilled  his  wrath  and  led  to  his  answer :  "  Every 
letter  of  Mrs.  Plume's  I  burned  before  she  was  married, 
and  I  so  assured  her.  She  herself  wrote  asking  me  to 
burn  rather  than  return  them,  but  there  were  letters  and 
papers  I  could  not  burn,  brought  to  me  by  a  poor  devil 
that  woman  Elise  had  married,  tricked  into  jail,  and  then 
deserted.  He  disappeared  afterward,  and  even  Pinker- 
ton's  people  haven't  been  able  to  find  him.  Those  papers 
are  his  property.  You  and  Colonel  Byrne  are  the  only 


304  AN  APACHE  PRINCESS 

men  who  have  seen  them,  though  they  were  somewhat 
exposed  just  after  the  fire.  She  made  three  attempts  to 
get  me  to  give  them  up  to  her.  Then,  I  believe,  she 
strove  to  get  Downs  to  steal  them,  and  gave  him  the 
money  with  which  to  desert  and  bring  them  to  her.  He 
couldn't  get  into  the  iron  box;  couldn't  lug  it  out,  and 
somehow,  probably,  set  fire  to  the  place,  scratching 
matches  in  there.  Perhaps  she  even  persuaded  him  to 
do  that  as  a  last  resort.  He  knew  I  could  get  out  safely. 
At  all  events,  he  was  scared  out  of  his  wits  and  deserted 
with  what  he  had.  It  was  in  trying  to  make  his  way  east 
ward  by  the  Wingate  road  that  there  came  the  last  of 
poor  Ups  and  Downs." 

And  so  the  story  of  this  baleful  influence  over  a  weak, 
half-drugged  girl,  her  mistress,  became  known  to  Plume 
and  gradually  to  others.  It  was  easy  for  Elise  to  make 
her  believe  that,  in  spite  of  the  word  of  a  gentleman,  her 
impulsive  love  letters  were  still  held  by  Blakely  because 
he  had  never  forgiven  her.  It  was  Elise,  indeed,  who 
had  roused  her  jealousy  and  had  done  her  best  to  break 
that  engagement  with  Blakely  and  to  lead  to  the  match 
with  the  handsome  and  devoted  major.  Intrigue  and 
lying  were  as  the  breath  of  the  woman's  nostrils.  She 
lived  in  them.  But  Sandy  was  never  to  see  her  again. 
"  Woman- Walk-in-the-Night  "  was  "  Woman-Walk-no- 
More." 

And  now  the  friendless  creature  stood  charged  with 
more  crimes  than  would  fill  the  meager  space  of  a  Terri 
torial  jail,  and  yet  the  one  originally  laid  at  her  door, 


"  WOMAN-WALK-NO-MORE  "  305 

though  never  publicly  announced,  was  now  omitted  en 
tirely — that  of  assault  with  deadly  weapon,  possibly  with 
intent  to  kill.  Even  Mother  Shaughnessy  and  Norah 
were  silenced,  and  Pat  Mullins  put  to  confusion.  Even 
the  latest  punctured  patient  at  the  hospital,  Private  Todd, 
had  to  serve  as  evidence  in  behalf  of  Elise,  for  Graham, 
post  surgeon,  had  calmly  declared  that  the  same  weapon 
that  so  nearly  killed  Pat  Mullins  had  as  nearly  and  neatly 
done  the  deed  for  Todd — the  keen  Apache  knife  of  Prin 
cess  Natzie. 

"  The  heathen  child  was  making  her  usual  night  visit 
to  her  white  lover,"  said  Wren  grimly,  having  in  mind 
the  womanly  shape  he  had  seen  that  starlit  morning-  at 
Blakely's  rear  door. 

"  You're  right  in  one  guess,  R-robert  Wren,"  was  the 
prompt  answer  of  his  friend  and  fellow  Scot,  who  glared 
at  Janet  rather  than  his  convalescent  as  he  spoke.  "And 
ye're  wrang  in  twanty.  She  was  tryin',  and  didn't  know 
the  way.  She  was  tryin',  for  she  had  his  watch  and 
pocketbook.  You're  wrang  if  ye  think  she  was  ever 
there  before  or  after.  The  slut  you  saw  cryin'  at  his  back 
door  was  that  quean  Elise,  an'  ye  well  know  there  was  no 
love  lost  between  them.  Go  say  yer  prayers,  man,  for 
every  wicked  thought  ye've  had  of  him — or  of  that  poor 
child.  Between  them  they  saved  your  Angela !  " 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

THE  PARTING  BY  THE  WATERS 


day  I  may  tell  Miss  Angela  —  but  never 
you,"  had  Mr.  Blakely  said,  before  setting  forth 
on  his  perilous  essay  to  find  Angela's  father,  and 
with  native  tenacity  Miss  Wren  the  elder  had  remembered 
the  words  and  nourished  her  wrath.  It  was  strange,  in 
deed,  that  Plume,  an  officer  and  a  gentleman,  should  have 
bethought  him  of  the  "  austere  vestal  "  as  a  companion 
witness  to  Blakely's  supposed  iniquity  ;  but,  between  these 
two  natures,  —  one  strong,  one  weak,  —  there  had  sprung 
up  the  strange  sympathy  that  is  born  of  a  common,  deep- 
rooted,  yet  ill-defined  antipathy  —  one  for  which  neither 
she  nor  he  could  yet  give  good  reason,  and  of  which  each 
was  secretly  ashamed.  Each,  for  reasons  of  her  or  his 
own,  cordially  disliked  the  Bugologist,  and  each  could  not 
but  welcome  evidence  to  warrant  such  dislike.  It  is  hu 
man  nature.  Janet  Wren  had  strong  convictions  that  the 
man  was  immoral,  if  for  no  other  reason  than  that  he 
obviously  sought  Angela  and  as  obviously  avoided  her. 
Janet  had  believed  him  capable  of  carrying  on  a  liaison 
with  the  dame  who  had  jilted  him,  and  had  had  to  see 
that  theory  crushed.  Then  she  would  have  it  that,  if  not 
the  mistress,  he  dallied  with  the  maid,  and  when  it  Began 
to  transpire  that  virulent  hatred  was  the  only  passion  felt 

306 


THE  PARTING  BY  THE  WATERS       307 

for  him  by  that  baffling  and  detestable  daughter  of  Belial, 
there  came  actual  joy  to  the  soul  of  the  Scotchwoman 
that,  after  all,  her  intuition  had  not  been  at  fault.  He 
was  immoral  as  she  would  have  him,  even  more  so,  for 
he  had  taken  base  advantage  of  the  young  and  presumably 
innocent.  She  craved  some  proof,  and  Plume  knew  it, 
and,  seeing  her  there  alone  in  her  dejection,  had  bidden 
her  come  and  look — with  the  result  described. 

His  own  feeling  toward  Blakely  is  difficult  to  explain. 
Kind  friends  had  told  him  at  St.  Louis  how  inseparable 
had  been  Clarice  and  this  very  superior  young  officer. 
She  had  admitted  to  him  the  "  flirtation,"  but  denied  all 
regard  for  Blakely,  yet  Plume  speedily  found  her  moody, 
fitful,  and  unhappy,  and  made  up  his  mind  that  Blakely 
was  at  the  bottom  of  it.  Her  desire  to  go  to  far-away 
Arizona  could  have  no  other  explanation.  And  though 
in  no  way  whatever,  by  look,  word,  or  deed,  had  Blakely 
transgressed  the  strictest  rule  in  his  bearing  toward  the 
major's  wife,  both  major  and  wife  became  incensed  at 
him, — Plume  because  he  believed  the  Bugologist  still 
cherished  a  tender  passion  for  his  wife — or  she  for  him ; 
Clarice,  it  must  be  owned,  because  she  knew  well  he  did 
not.  Plume  sought  to  find  a  flaw  in  his  subordinate's 
moral  armor  to  warrant  the  aversion  that  he  felt,  and  was 
balked  at  every  turn.  It  was  with  joy  almost  fierce  he 
discovered  what  he  thought  to  be  proof  that  the  subaltern 
was  no  saint,  and,  never  stopping  to  give  his  better  nature 
time  to  rise  and  rebuke  him,  he  had  summoned  Janet. 
It  was  to  sting  Blakely,  more  than  to  punish  the  girl,  he 


308  AN  APACHE  PRINCESS 

had  ordered  Natzie  to  the  guard-room.  Then,  as  the 
hours  wore  on  and  he  realized  how  contemptible  had  been 
his  conduct,  the  sense  of  shame  well-nigh  crushed  him, 
and  though  it  galled  him  to  think  that  some  of  his  own 
kind,  probably,  had  connived  at  Natzie's  escape,  he 
thanked  God  the  girl  was  gone.  And  now  having  con 
vinced  herself  that  here  at  last  she  had  positive  proof  of 
Mr.  Blakely's  depravity,  Aunt  Janet  had  not  scrupled  to 
bear  it  to  Angela,  with  sharp  and  surprising  result.  A 
good  girl,  a  dutiful  girl,  was  Angela,  as  we  have  seen, 
but  she,  too,  had  her  share  of  fighting  Scotch  blood  and 
a  bent  for  revolt  that  needed  only  a  reason.  For  days 
Aunt  Janet  had  bidden  her  shun  the  young  man,  first 
naming  Mrs.  Plume  and  then  Elsie  as  the  cause  and 
corespondent.  One  after  another  Graham  had  demol 
ished  these  possibilities,  to  the  end  that  even  Wren  was 
ashamed  of  his  unworthy  suspicions.  Then  it  was  Nat 
zie  who  was  the  prey  of  Blakely's  immorality,  and  for 
that,  Janet  declared,  quite  as  much  as  for  stabbing  the  sol 
dier,  the  girl  had  been  sent  to  the  cells.  It  was  late  in  the 
day  when  she  managed  to  find  Angela  away  from  her 
father,  who,  realizing  what  Natzie  had  done  and  suffered 
to  save  his  own  ewe  lamb,  was  now  in  keen  distress  of 
mind  because  powerless  to  raise  a  hand  to  aid  her.  He 
wondered  that  Angela  seemed  so  unresponsive — that  she 
did  not  flare  up  in  protest  at  such  degrading  punishment 
for  the  girl  who  had  saved  her  life.  He  little  knew  how 
his  daughter's  heart  was  burning  within  her.  He  never 
dreamed  that  she,  too,  was  suffering — torn  by  conflicting 


THE  PARTING  BY  THE  WATERS       309 

emotions.  It  was  a  sore  thing  to  find  that  in  her  benefac 
tress  lived  an  unsuspected  rival. 

Just  before  sunset  she  had  left  him  and  gone  to  her 
room  to  change  her  dress  for  the  evening,  and  Janet's 
first  swoop  was  upon  her  brother.  Once  before  during 
the  exciting  day  she  had  had  a  moment  to  herself  and 
him.  She  had  so  constantly  fanned  the  flame  of  his  be 
lief  in  Blakely's  gallantries  as  even  to  throttle  the  sense  of 
gratitude  he  felt,  and,  in  spite  of  herself,  that  she  felt  for 
that  officer's  daring  and  successful  services  during  the 
campaign.  She  felt,  and  he  felt,  that  they  must  disap 
prove  of  Blakely — must  stamp  out  any  nascent  regard  that 
Angela  might  cherish  for  him,  and  to  this  end  would 
never  in  her  presence  admit  that  he  had  been  instrumental 
in  the  rescue  of  his  captain,  much  less  his  captain's  daugh 
ter.  Hurriedly  Janet  had  told  him  what  she  and  Plume 
had  seen,  and  left  him  to  ponder  over  it.  Now  she  came 
to  induce  him  to  bid  her  tell  it  all  to  Angela.  "  Now  that, 
that  other — affair — seems  disproved,"  said  she,  "  she'll  be 
thinking  there's  no  reason  why  she  shouldn't  be  thinking 
of  him,"  and  dejectedly  the  Scotchman  bade  her  do  as 
seemed  best.  Women,  he  reasoned,  could  better  read 
each  other's  hearts. 

And  so  Janet  had  gone  and  had  thought  to  shock,  and 
had  most  impressively  detailed  what  she  had  witnessed — 
I  fear  me  Janet  scrupled  not  to  embroider  a  bit,  so  much 
is  permissible  to  the  "  unco  guid  "  when  so  very  much  is 
at  stake.  And  Angela  went  on  brushing  out  her  beauti 
ful  hair  without  a  sign  of  emotion.  To  the  scandal  of 


310  AN  APACHE  PRINCESS 

Scotch  maidenhood  she  seemed  unimpressed  by  the  de 
pravity  of  the  pair.  To  the  surprise  of  Aunt  Janet  she 
heard  her  without  interruption  to  the  uttermost  word,  and 
then — wished  to  know  if  Aunt  Janet  thought  the  major 
would  let  her  send  Natzie  something  for  supper. 

Whatever  the  girl  may  have  thought  of  this  new  and 
possible  complication,  she  determined  that  no  soul  should 
read  that  it  cost  her  a  pang.  She  declined  to  discuss  it. 
She  did  what  she  had  not  done  before  that  day — went 
forth  in  search  of  Kate  Sanders.  Aunt  Janet  was  aston 
ished  that  her  niece  should  wish  to  send  food  to  that — 
that  trollop.  What  would  she  have  thought  could  she 
have  4ieard  what  passed  a  few  moments  later  ?  In  the 
dusk  and  the  gloaming  Kate  Sanders  was  in  conversation 
on  the  side  veranda  with  a  tall  sergeant  of  her  father's 
troop.  "Ask  her?"  Kate  was  saying.  "Of  course  I'll 
ask  her.  Why,  here  she  comes  now !  "  Will  it  be  believed 
that  Sergeant  Shannon  wished  Miss  Angela's  permission 
to  "  take  Punch  out  for  a  little  exercise,"  a  thing  he  had 
never  ventured  to  ask  before,  and  that  Angela  Wren 
eagerly  said,  "  Yes."  Poor  Shannon !  He  did  not  know 
that  night  how  soon  he  would  be  borrowing  a  horse  on 
his  own  account,  nor  that  two  brave  girls  would  nearly 
cry  their  eyes  out  over  it,  when  they  were  barely  on 
speaking  terms. 

Of  him  there  came  sad  news  but  the  day  after  his 
crack-brained,  Quixotic  essay.  Infatuated  with  Elise, 
and  believing  in  her  promise  to  marry  him,  he  had  placed 
his  savings  in  her  hands,  even  as  had  Downs  and  Car- 


THE  PARTING  BY  THE  WATERS       311 

mody.  He  had  heard  the  story  of  her  visiting  Blakely 
by  night,  and  scouted  it.  He  heard,  in  a  maze  of  aston 
ishment,  that  she  was  being  sent  to  Prescott  under  guard 
for  delivery  to  the  civil  authorities,  and  taking  the  first 
horse  he  could  lay  hands  on,  he  galloped  in  chase.  He 
had  overtaken  the  ambulance  on  Cherry  Creek,  and  with 
moving  tears  she  had  besought  him  to  save  her.  Faith 
ful  to  their  trust,  the  guard  had  to  interpose,  but,  late  at 
night,  they  reached  Stammer's  ranch ;  were  met  there  by 
a  relief  guard  sent  down  by  Captain  Stout;  and  the  big 
sergeant  who  came  in  charge,  with  special  instructions 
from  Stout's  own  lips,  was  a  new  king  who  knew  not 
Joseph,  and  who  sternly  bade  Shannon  keep  his  dis 
tance.  Hot  words  followed,  for  the  trooper  sergeant 
would  stand  no  hectoring  from  an  equal  in  rank.  Shan 
non's  heart  was  already  lost,  and  now  he  lost  his  head. 
He  struck  a  fellow-sergeant  who  stood  charged  with  an 
important  duty,  and  even  his  own  comrades  could  not  in 
terpose  when  the  infantrymen  threw  themselves  upon  the 
raging  Irish  soldier  and  hammered  him  hard  before  they 
could  subdue  and  bind  him,  but  bind  him  they  did.  Sadly 
the  trooper  guard  went  back  to  Sandy,  bringing  the  "  bor 
rowed  "  horse  and  the  bad  news  that  Shannon  had  been 
arrested  for  assaulting  Sergeant  Bull,  and  all  men  knew 
that  court-martial  and  disgrace  must  follow.  It  was 
Shannon's  last  run  on  the  road  he  knew  so  well.  Soldiers 
of  rank  came  forward  to  plead  for  him  and  bear  witness 
to  his  worth  and  services,  and  the  general  commanding 
remitted  most  of  the  sentence,  restoring  to  him  every- 


312  AN  APACHE  PRINCESS 

thing  the  court  had  decreed  forfeited  except  the  chevrons. 
They  had  to  go,  yet  could  soon  be  regained.  But  no 
man  could  restore  to  him  the  pride  and  self-respect  that 
went  when  he  realized  that  he  was  only  one  of  several 
plucked  and  deluded  victims  of  a  female  sharper.  While 
the  Frenchwoman  ogled  and  languished  behind  the  bars, 
Shannon  wandered  out  into  the  world  again,  a  deserter 
from  the  troop  he  was  ashamed  to  face,  an  unfollowed, 
unsought  fugitive  among  the  mining  camps  in  the  Sier 
ras.  "  Three  stout  soldiers  stricken  from  the  rolls — two 
of  them  gone  to  their  last  account,"  mused  poor  Plume, 
as  at  last  he  led  his  unhappy  wife  away  to  the  sea,  "  and 
all  the  work  of  one  woman !  " 

Yes,  Mrs.  Plume  was  gone  now  for  good  and  all, 
her  devoted,  yet  sore-hearted  major  with  her,  and  Wren 
was  sufficiently  recovered  to  be  up  and  taking  the  air  on 
his  veranda,  where  Sanders  sometimes  stopped  to  see 
him,  and  "  pass  the  time  o£  day,"  but  cut  his  visits  short 
and  spoke  of  everything  but  what  was  uppermost  in  his 
mind,  because  his  better  half  persuaded  him  that  only  ill 
would  come  from  preaching.  Then,  late  one  wonderful 
day,  the  interesting  invalid,  Mr.  Neil  Blakely  himself, 
was  "  paraded  "  upon  the  piazza  in  the  Sanders's  special 
reclining-chair,  and  Kate  and  Mrs.  Sanders  beamed,  while 
nearly  all  society  at  the  post  came  and  purred  and  con 
gratulated  and  took  sidelong  glances  up  the  row  to  where 
Angela  but  a  while  before  was  reading  to  her  grim  old 
father,  but  where  the  father  now  read  alone,  for  Angela 
had  gone,  as  was  her  custom  at  the  hour,  to  her  own  little 


THE  PARTING  BY  THE  WATERS       313 

room,  and  thither  did  Janet  conceive  it  her  duty  to  follow, 
and  there  to  investigate. 

"  It  won't  be  long  now  before  that  young  man  will  be 
hobbling  around  the  post,  I  suppose.  How  do  you  ex 
pect  to  avoid  him  ?  "  said  the  elder  maiden,  looking  with 
uncompromising  austerity  at  her  niece.  Angela  as  before 
had  just  shaken  loose  her  wealth  of  billowy  tresses  and 
was  carefully  brushing  them.  She  did  not  turn  from  the 
contemplation  of  her  double  in  the  mirror  before  her ;  she 
did  not  hesitate  in  her  reply.  It  was  brief,  calm,  and  to 
the  point. 

"  I  shall  not  avoid  him." 

"Angela!  And  after  all  I — your  father  and  I — have 
told  you !  "  And  Aunt  Janet  began  to  bristle. 

"  Two-thirds  of  what  you  told  me,  Aunt  Janet,  proved 
to  be  without  foundation.  Now  I  doubt — the  rest  of  it." 
And  Aunt  Janet  saw  the  big  eyes  beginning  to  fill;  saw 
the  twitching  at  the  corners  of  the  soft,  sensitive  lips ;  saw 
the  trembling  of  the  slender,  white  hand,  and  the  ominous 
tapping  of  the  slender,  shapely  foot,  but  there  wasn't  a 
symptom  of  fear  or  flinching.  The  blood  of  the  Wrens 
was  up  for  battle.  The  child  was  a  woman  grown.  The 
day  of  revolt  had  come  at  last. 

"Angela  Wr-r-ren!"  rolled  Aunt  Janet.  "  D'you 
mean  you're  going  to  see  him  ? — speak  to  him  ?  " 

"  I'm  going  to  see  him  and — thank  him,  Aunt  Janet." 
And  now  the  girl  had  turned  and  faced  the  astounded 
woman  at  the  door.  "  You  may  spare  yourself  any  words 
upon  the  subject." 


314  AN  APACHE  PRINCESS 

The  captain  was  seated  in  loneliness  and  mental  per 
turbation  just  where  Angela  had  left  him,  but  no  longer 
pretending  to  read.  His  back  was  toward  the  southern 
end  of  the  row.  He  had  not  even  seen  the  cause  of  the 
impromptu  reception  at  the  Sanders's.  He  read  what 
was  taking  place  when  Angela  began  to  lose  her  voice, 
to  stumble  over  her  words ;  and,  peering  at  her  under  his 
bushy  eyebrows,  he  saw  that  the  face  he  loved  was  flush 
ing,  that  her  young  bosom  was  swiftly  rising  and  falling, 
the  beautiful  brown  eyes  wandering  from  the  page.  Even 
before  the  glad  voices  from  below  came  ringing  to  his 
ears,  he  read  in  his  daughter's  face  the  tumult  in  her 
guileless  heart,  and  then  she  suddenly  caught  herself  and 
hurried  back  to  the  words  that  seemed  swimming  in  space 
before  her.  But  the  effort  was  vain.  Rising  quickly, 
and  with  brave  effort  steadying  her  voice,  she  said,  "  I'll 
run  and  dress  now,  father,  dear,"  and  was  gone,  leaving 
him  to  face  the  problem  thrust  upon  him.  Had  he  known 
that  Janet,  too,  had  heard  from  the  covert  of  the  screened 
and  shaded  window  of  the  little  parlor,  and  then  that  she 
had  followed,  he  would  have  shouted  for  his  German 
"  striker  "  and  sent  a  mandate  to  his  sister  that  she  could 
not  fail  to  understand.  He  did  not  know  that  she  had 
been  with  Angela  until  he  heard  her  footstep  and  saw  her 
face  at  the  hall  doorway.  She  had  not  even  to  roll  her 
r's  before  the  story  was  told. 

Two  days  now  he  had  lived  in  much  distress  of  mind. 
Before  quitting  the  post  Major  Plume  had  laboriously 
gone  the  rounds,  saying  good-by  to  every  officer  and  lady. 


THE  PARTING  BY  THE  WATERS       315 

Two  officers  he  had  asked  to  see  alone — the  captain  and 
first  lieutenant  of  Troop  "  C."  Janet  knew  of  this,  and 
should  have  known  it  meant  amende  and  reconciliation, 
perhaps  revelation,  but  because  her  brother  saw  fit  to  sit 
and  ponder,  she  saw  fit  to  cling  unflinchingly  to  her  pre 
conceived  ideas  and  to  act  according  to  them.  With 
Graham  she  was  exceeding  wroth  for  daring  to  defend 
such  persons  as  Lieutenant  Blakely  and  "that  Indian 
squaw."  It  was  akin  to  opposing  weak-minded  theories 
to  positive  knowledge  of  facts.  She  had  seen  with  her 
own  eyes  the  ignorant,  but  no  less  abandoned,  creature 
kneeling  at  Blakely's  bedside,  her  black  head  pillowed 
close  to  his  breast.  She  had  seen  her  spring  up  in  fury 
at  being  caught — what  else  could  have  so  enraged  her 
that  she  should  seek  to  knife  the  intruders  ?  argued  Janet. 
She  believed,  or  professed  to  believe,  that  but  for  the 
vigilance  of  poor  Todd,  now  quite  happy  in  his  conva 
lescence,  the  young  savage  would  have  murdered  both  the 
major  and  herself.  She  did  not  care  what  Dr.  Graham 
said.  She  had  seen,  and  seeing,  with  Janet,  was  believing. 

But  she  knew  her  brother  well,  and  knew  that  since 
Graham's  impetuous  outbreak  he  had  been  wavering 
sadly,  and  since  Plume's  parting  visit  had  been  plunged 
in  a  mental  slough  of  doubt  and  distress.  Once  before 
his  stubborn  Scotch  nature  had  had  to  strike  its  colors 
and  surrender  to  his  own  subaltern,  and  now  the  same 
struggle  was  on  again,  for  what  Plume  said,  and  said  in 
presence  of  grim  old  Graham,  fairly  startled  him: 

"  You  are  not  the  only  one  to  whom  I  owe  amende 


316  AN  APACHE  PRINCESS 

and  apology,  Captain  Wren.  I  wronged  you,  when  you 
were  shielding — my  wife — at  no  little  cost  to  yourself. 
I  wronged  Blakely  in  several  ways,  and  I  have  had  to  go 
and  tell  him  so  and  beg  his  pardon.  The  meanest  thing 
I  ever  did  was  bringing  Miss  Wren  in  there  to  spy  on 
him,  unless  it  was  in  sending  that  girl  to  the  guard-house. 
I'd  beg  her  pardon,  too,  if  she  could  be  found.  Yes,  I 
see  you  look  glum,  Wren,  but  we've  all  been  wrong,  I 
reckon.  There's  no  mystery  about  it  now." 

And  then  Plume  told  his  tale  and  Wren  meekly  list 
ened.  It  might  well  be,  said  he,  that  Natzie  loved 
Blakely.  All  her  people  did.  She  had  been  watching 
him  from  the  willows  as  he  slept  that  day  at  the  pool. 
He  had  forbidden  her  following  him,  forbidden  her 
coming  to  the  post,  and  she  feared  to  wake  him,  yet  when 
she  saw  the  two  prospectors,  that  had  been  at  Hart's,  ride 
over  toward  the  sleeping  officer  she  was  startled.  She 
saw  them  watching,  whispering  together.  Then  they 
rode  down  and  tied  their  horses  among  the  trees  a  hun 
dred  yards  below,  and  came  crouching  along  the  bank. 
She  was  up  in  an  instant  and  over  the  stream  at  the  shal 
lows,  and  that  scared  them  off  long  enough  to  let  her 
reach  him.  Even  then  she  dare  not  wake  him  for  fear  of 
his  anger  at  her  disobedience,  but  his  coat  was  open,  his 
watch  and  wallet  easy  to  take.  She  quickly  seized  them 
— the  little  picture-case  being  within  the  wallet  at  the 
moment — and  sped  back  to  her  covert.  Then  Angela  had 
come  cantering  down  the  sandy  road ;  had  gone  on  down 
stream,  passing  even  the  prowling  prospectors,  and  after 


THE  PARTING  BY  THE  WATERS       317 

a  few  minutes  had  returned  and  dismounted  among  the 
willows  above  where  Blakely  lay — Angela  whom  poor 
Natzie  believed  to  be  Blakely's  sister.  Natzie  supposed 
her  looking  for  her  brother,  and  wondered  why  she 
waited.  Natzie  finally  signaled  and  pointed  when  she 
saw  that  Angela  was  going  in  disappointment  at  not  find 
ing  him.  Natzie  witnessed  Angela's  theft  of  the  net  and 
her  laughing  ride  away.  By  this  time  the  prospectors 
had  given  up  and  gone  about  their  business,  and  then, 
while  she  was  wondering  how  best  to  restore  the  prop 
erty,  Lola  and  Alchisay  had  come  with  the  annoying 
news  that  the  agent  was  angered  and  had  sent  trailers 
after  her.  They  were  even  then  only  a  little  way  up 
stream.  The  three  then  made  a  run  for  the  rocks  to  the 
east,  and  there  remained  in  hiding.  That  night  Natzie 
had  done  her  best  to  find  her  way  to  Blakely  with  the 
property,  and  the  rest  they  knew.  The  watch  was 
dropped  in  the  struggle  on  the  mesa  when  Mullins  was 
stabbed,  the  picture-case  that  morning  at  the  major's 
quarters. 

"Was  it  Blakely  told  you  all  this,  sir?"  Wren  had 
asked,  still  wrong-headed  and  suspicious. 

"No,  Wren.  It  was  I  told  Blakely.  All  this  was 
given  me  by  Lola's  father,  the  interpreter,  back  from 
Chevlon's  Fork  only  yesterday.  I  sent  him  to  try  to  per 
suade  Natzie  and  her  kinsfolk  to  return.  I  have  prom 
ised  them  immunity." 

Then  Plume  and  Graham  had  gone,  leaving  Wren  to 
brood  and  ponder,  and  this  had  he  been  doing  two  mortal 


318  AN  APACHE  PRINCESS 

days  and  nights  without  definite  result,  and  now  came 
Janet  to  bring  things  to  a  head.  In  grim  and  ominous 
silence  he  listened  to  her  recital,  saying  never  a  word  un 
til  her  final  appeal : 

"  R-r-robert,  is  our  girlie  going  daft,  do  you  think  ? 
She  solemnly  said  to  me — to  me — but  a  minute  ago,  '  I 
mean  to  go  to  him  myself — and  thank  him ! '  " 

And  solemnly  the  soldier  looked  up  from  his  reclining- 
chair  and  studied  his  sister's  amazed  and  anxious  face. 
Then  he  took  her  thin,  white  hand  between  his  own  thin, 
brown  paws  and  patted  it  gently.  She  recoiled  slowly  as 
she  saw  contrition,  not  condemnation,  in  his  blinking  eyes. 

"  God  forgive  us  all,  Janet !  It's  what  I  ought  to  have 
done  days  ago." 


Another  cloudless  afternoon  had  come,  and,  under  the 
willows  at  the  edge  of  the  pool,  a  young  girl  sat  day 
dreaming,  though  the  day  was  nearly  done.  All  in  the 
valley  was  wrapped  in  shadow,  though  the  cliffs  and  tur 
rets  across  the  stream  were  resplendent  in  a  radiance  of 
slanting  sunshine.  Not  a  whisper  of  breeze  stirred  the 
drooping  foliage  along  the  sandy  shores,  or  ruffled  the 
liquid  mirror  surface.  Not  a  sound,  save  drowsy  hum  of 
beetle  or  soft  murmur  of  rippling  waters  among  the  peb 
bly  shadows  below,  broke  the  vast  silence  of  the  scene. 
Just  where  Angela  was  seated  that  October  day  on  which 
our  story  opened,  she  was  seated  now,  with  the  grey 
hounds  stretched  sprawling  in  the  warm  sands  at  her 


THE  PARTING  BY  THE  WATERS       319 

feet,  with  Punch  blinking  lazily  and  switching  his  long 
tail  in  the  thick  of  the  willows. 

And  somebody  else  was  there,  close  at  hand.  The 
shadows  of  the  westward  heights  had  gradually  risen  to 
the  crest  of  the  rocky  cliffs  across  the  stream.  A  soft, 
prolonged  call  of  distant  trumpet  summoned  homeward 
for  the  coming  night  the  scattered  herds  and  herd  guards 
of  the  post,  and,  rising  suddenly,  her  hand  upon  a  swift- 
throbbing  heart,  her  red  lips  parted  in  eagerness  or  ex 
citement  uncontrollable,  Angela  stood  intently  listening. 
Over  among  the  thickets  across  the  pool  the  voice  of  an 
Indian  girl  was  uplifted  in  some  weird,  uncanny  song. 
The  voice  was  shrill,  yet  not  unmusical.  The  song  was 
savage,  yet  not  lacking  some  crude  harmony.  She  could 
not  see  the  singer,  but  she  knew.  Natzie's  people  had 
returned  to  the  agency,  accepting  the  olive  branch  that 
Plume  had  tendered  them — Natzie  herself  was  here. 

At  the  first  sound  of  the  uplifted  voice  an  Apache  boy, 
crouching  in  the  shrubbery  at  the  edge  of  the  pool,  rose 
quickly  to  his  feet,  and,  swift  and  noiseless,  stole  away 
into  the  thicket.  If  he  thought  to  conceal  himself  or  his 
purpose  his  caution  was  needless.  Angela  neither  saw 
nor  heard  him.  Neither  was  it  the  song  nor  the  singer 
that  now  arrested  her  attention.  So  still  was  the  air,  so 
deep  was  the  silence  of  nature,  that  even  on  such  sandy 
roads  and  bridlepaths  as  traversed  the  winding  valley, 
the  faintest  hoof-beat  was  carried  far.  Another  horse, 
another  rider,  was  quickly  coming.  Tonto,  the  big  hound 
nearest  her,  lifted  his  shapely  head  and  listened  a  mo- 


320  AN  APACHE  PRINCESS 

ment,  then  went  bounding  away  through  the  willows,  fol 
lowed  swiftly  by  his  mate.  They  knew  the  hoof-beats, 
and  joyously  ran  to  meet  and  welcome  the  rider.  Angela 
knew  them  quite  as  well,  but  could  neither  run  to  meet, 
nor  could  she  fly. 

Only  twice,  as  yet,  had  she  opportunity  to  see  or  to 
thank  Neil  Blakely,  and  a  week  had  passed  since  her 
straightforward  challenge  to  Aunt  Janet.  As  soon  as  he 
could  walk  unaided,  save  by  his  stick,  Wren  had  gone 
stumping  down  the  line  to  Sanders's  quarters  and  asked 
for  Mr.  Blakely,  with  whom  he  had  an  uninterrupted 
talk  of  half  an  hour.  Within  two  days  thereafter  Mr. 
Blakely  in  person  returned  the  call,  being  received  with 
awful  state  and  solemnity  by  Miss  Wren  herself.  An 
gela,  summoned  by  her  father's  voice,  came  flitting  down 
a  moment  later,  and  there  in  the  little  army  parlor,  where 
first  she  had  sought  to  "  entertain  "  him  until  the  captain 
should  appear,  our  Angela  was  once  again  brought  face 
to  face  with  him  who  had  meanwhile  risked  his  life  in  the 
effort  to  rescue  her  father,  and  again  in  the  effort  to  find 
and  rescue  her.  A  fine  blush  mantled  her  winsome  face 
as  she  entered,  and,  without  a  glance  at  Janet,  went 
straightway  to  their  visitor,  with  extended  hand. 

"  I  am  so  glad  to  see  you  again,  Mr.  Blakely,"  she 

bravely  began.  "  I  have — so  much — to  thank  you " 

but  her  brown  eyes  fell  before  the  fire  in  the  blue  and  her 
whole  being  thrilled  at  the  fervor  of  his  handclasp.  She 
drew  her  hand  away,  the  color  mounting  higher,  then 
snuggled  to  her  father's  side  with  intent  to  take  his  arm ; 


THE  PARTING  BY  THE  WATERS      321 

but,  realizing  suddenly  how  her  own  was  trembling, 
grasped  instead  the  back  of  a  chair.  Blakely  was  saying 
something,  she  knew  not  what,  nor  could  she  ever  recall 
much  that  anyone  said  during  the  brief  ten  minutes  of 
his  stay,  for  there  sat  Aunt  Janet,  bolt  upright,  after  the 
fashion  of  fifty  years  gone  by,  a  formidable  picture  in 
deed,  and  Angela  wondered  that  anyone  could  say  any 
thing  at  all. 

Next  time  they  met  she  was  riding  home  and  he  sat  on 
the  south  veranda  with  Mrs.  Sanders  and  Kate.  She 
would  have  ridden  by  with  just  a  nod  and  smile ;  but,  at 
sight  of  her,  he  "  hobbled  "  down  the  steps  and  came 
hurriedly  out  to  speak,  whereupon  Mrs.  Sanders,  who 
knew  much  better,  followed  to  "  help  him,"  as  she  said. 
"  Help,  indeed !  "  quoth  angry  Kate,  usually  most  dutiful 
of  daughters.  "  You'd  only  hinder !  "  But  even  that 
presence  had  not  stopped  his  saying :  "  The  doctor  prom 
ises  I  may  ride  Hart's  single-footer  in  a  day  or  two,  Miss 
Angela,  and  then " 

And  now  it  was  a  "  single-footer  "  coming,  the  only  one 
at  Sandy.  Of  course  it  might  be  Hart,  not  Blakely,  and 
yet  Blakely  had  seen  her  as  she  rode  away.  It  was 
Blakely's  voice — how  seldom  she  had  heard,  yet  how  well 
she  knew  it !  answering  the  joyous  welcome  of  the  hounds. 
It  was  Blakely  who  came  riding  straight  in  among  the 
willows,  a  radiance  in  his  thin  and  lately  pallid  face — 
Blakely  who  quickly,  yet  awkwardly,  dismounted,  for  it 
still  caused  him  pain,  and  then,  forgetful  of  his  horse, 
came  instantly  to  her  as  she  stood  there,  smiling,  yet 


322  AN  APACHE  PRINCESS 

tremulous.  The  hand  that  sought  hers  fairly  shook,  but 
that,  said  Angela,  though  she  well  knew  better,  might 
have  been  from  weakness  or  from  riding.  For  a  moment 
he  did  not  speak.  It  was  she  who  began.  She  thought 
he  should  know  at  once. 

"  Did  you — hear  her  singing — too  ?  "  she  hazarded. 

"  Hear  ? — Who  ?  "  he  replied,  grudgingly  letting  go  the 
hand  because  it  pulled  with  such  determination. 

"  Why — Natzie,  I  suppose.  At  least — I  haven't  seen 
her,"  she  stammered,  her  cheeks  all  crimson  now. 

"  Natzie,  indeed !  "  he  answered,  in  surprise,  turning 
slowly  and  studying  the  opposite  willows.  "  It  is  only  a 
day  or  two  since  they  came  in.  I  thought  she'd  soon  be 
down."  Obviously  her  coming  caused  him  neither  em 
barrassment  nor  concern.  "  She  still  has  a  notecase  of 
mine.  I  suppose  you  heard  ?  "  And  his  clear  blue  eyes 
were  fastened  on  her  lovely,  downcast  face. 

"  Something.  Not  much,"  she  answered,  drawing 
back  a  little,  for  he  stood  so  close  to  her  she  could  have 
heard  the  beating  of  his  heart — but  for  her  own.  All  was 
silence  over  there  in  the  opposite  willows,  but  so  it  was 
the  day  Natzie  had  so  suddenly  appeared  from  nowhere, 
and  he  saw  the  hurried  glance  she  sent  across  the  pool. 

"  Has  she  worried  you  ?  "  he  began,  "  has  she  been " 

spying,  he  was  going  to  say,  and  she  knew  it,  and  grew 
redder  still  with  vexation.  Natzie  could  claim  at  least 
that  she  was  not  without  a  shining  example  had  she  come 
there  to  spy,  but  Blakely  had  that  to  say  to  her  that  de 
served  undivided  attention,  and  there  is  a  time  when 


THE  PARTING  BY  THE  WATERS       323 

even  one's  preserver  and  greatest  benefactor  may  be  de 
trop. 

"Will  you  wait — one  moment?"  he  suddenly  asked. 
"I'll  go  to  the  rocks  yonder  and  call  her,"  and  then, 
almost  as  suddenly,  the  voice  was  again  uplifted  in 
the  same  weird,  barbaric  song,  and  the  singer  had  gone 
from  the  depths  of  the  opposite  thicket  and  was  some 
where  farther  up  stream,  still  hidden  from  their  gaze — 
still,  possibly,  ignorant  of  Angela's  presence.  The  brown 
eyes  were  at  the  moment  following  the  tall,  white  form, 
moving  slowly  through  the  winding,  faintly-worn  path 
way  toward  the  upper  shallows  where,  like  stepping 
stones,  the  big  rocks  stretched  from  shore  to  shore,  and 
she  was  startled  to  note  that  the  moment  the  song  began 
he  stopped  short  a  second  or  two,  listened  intently,  then 
almost  sprang  forward  in  his  haste  to  reach  the  crossing. 
Another  minute  and  he  was  out  of  sight  among  the  shrub 
bery.  Another,  and  she  heard  the  single  shot  of  a  re 
volver,  and  there  he  stood  at  the  rocky  point,  a  smoking 
pistol  in  his  hand.  Instantly  the  song  ceased,  and  then 
his  voice  was  uplifted,  calling,  "  Natzie !  Natzie !  "  With 
breathless  interest  Angela  gazed  and,  presently,  parting 
the  shrubbery  with  her  little  brown  hands,  the  Indian  girl 
stepped  forth  into  the  light  and  stood  in  silence,  her  great 
black  eyes  fixed  mournfully  upon  him.  Could  this  be 
their  mountain  princess — the  daring,  the  resolute,  the 
commanding?  Could  this  be  the  fierce,  lissome,  panther- 
like  creature  before  whose  blow  two  of  their  stoutest  men 
had  fallen?  There  was  dejection  inexpressible  in  her 


324  AN  APACHE  PRINCESS 

very  attitude.  There  was  no  longer  bravery  or  adorn 
ment  in  her  dress.  There  was  no  more  of  queen — of 
chieftain's  daughter — in  this  downcast  child  of  the  desert. 
He  called  again,  "  Natzie,"  and  held  forth  his  hand. 
Her  head  had  drooped  upon  her  breast,  but,  once  again, 
she  looked  upon  him,  and  then,  with  one  slow,  hesitant, 
backward  glance  about  her,  stepped  forward,  her  little, 
moccasined  feet  flitting  from  rock  to  rock  across  the 
murmuring  shallows  until  she  stood  before  him.  Then 
he  spoke,  but  she  only  shook  her  head  and  let  it  droop 
again,  her  hands  passively  clasping.  He  knew  too  little 
of  her  tongue  to  plead  with  her.  He  knew,  perhaps,  too 
little  of  womankind  to  appreciate  what  he  was  doing. 
Finding  words  useless,  he  gently  took  her  hand  and  drew 
her  with  him,  and  passively  she  obeyed,  and  for  a  moment 
they  disappeared  from  Angela's  view.  Then  presently 
the  tall,  white  form  came  again  in  sight,  slowly  leading 
the  unresisting  child,  until,  in  another  moment,  they 
stepped  within  the  little  open  space  among  the  willows. 
At  the  same  instant  Angela  arose,  and  the  daughter  of  the 
soldier  and  the  daughter  of  the  savage,  the  one  with  timid 
yet  hopeful  welcome  and  greeting  in  her  lovely  face,  the 
other  with  sudden  amaze,  scorn,  passion,  and  jealous  fury 
in  her  burning  eyes,  stood  a  breathless  moment  con 
fronted.  Then,  all  in  a  second,  with  one-half  stifled,  in 
articulate  cry,  Natzie  wrenched  her  hand  from  that  of 
Blakely,  and,  with  the  spring  of  a  tigress,  bounded  away. 
Just  at  the  edge  of  the  pool  she  halted,  whirled  about, 
tore  from  her  bosom  a  flat,  oblong  packet  and  hurled  it  at 


>   '4 


e  o 


K)       P3 


THE  PARTING  BY  THE  WATERS       325 

his  feet;  then,  with  the  dart  of  a  frightened  deer,  drove 
through  the  northward  willows.  Angela  saw  her  run 
blindly  up  the  bank,  leaping  thence  to  the  rocks  below, 
bounding  from  one  to  another  with  the  wild  grace  of  the 
antelope.  Another  instant  and  she  had  reached  the  oppo 
site  shore,  and  there,  tossing  her  arms  wildly  above  her 
head,  her  black  tresses  streaming  behind  her,  with  a  cry 
that  was  almost  a  scream,  she  plunged  into  the  heart  of 
the  thicket ;  the  stubborn  branches  closed  behind  her,  and 
our  Apache  queen  was  gone.  As  they  met,  so  had  they 
parted,  by  the  waters  of  the  pool. 

When  Blakely  turned  again  to  Angela  she,  too,  was 
gone.  He  found  her  a  little  later,  her  arms  twined  about 
her  pony's  neck,  her  face  buried  in  his  mane,  and  sob 
bing  as  though  her  heart  would  break. 

On  a  soft,  starlit  evening  within  the  week,  no  longer 
weeping,  but  leaning  on  Blakely's  arm,  Angela  stood  at  the 
edge  of  the  bluff,  looking  far  out  over  the  Red  Rock  coun 
try  to  the  northeast.  The  sentry  had  reported  a  distant 
signal  fire,  and  several  of  the  younger  people  had  strolled 
out  to  see.  Whatever  it  was  that  had  caused  the  report 
had  vanished  by  the  time  they  reached  the  post,  so,  pres 
ently,  Kate  Sanders  started  the  homeward  move,  and  now 
even  the  sentry  had  disappeared  in  the  darkness.  When 
Angela,  too,  would  have  returned,  his  arm  restrained. 
She  knew  it  would.  She  knew  he  had  not  spoken  that 
evening  at  the  willows  because  of  her  tears.  She  knew 
he  had  been  patient,  forbearing,  gentle,  yet  well  she  knew 
he  meant  now  to  speak  and  wait  no  longer. 


326  AN  APACHE  PRINCESS 

"  Do  you  remember,"  he  began,  "  when  I  said  that  some 
day  I  should  tell  you — but  never  your  aunt — who  it  was 
that  came  to  my  quarters  that  night — and  why  she  came?  " 
and  though  she  sought  to  remove  her  hand  from  his  arm 
he  would  not  let  it  go. 

"  You  did  tell  me,"  she  answered,  her  eyelids  droop 
ing. 

"I  did\— when?" 

Though  the  face  was  downcast,  the  sensitive  lips  began 
to  quiver  with  merriment  and  mischief. 

''The  same  day  you  took  me  for — your  mother — and 
asked  me  to  sing  for  you." 

"  Angela !  "  he  cried,  in  amaze,  and  turning  quickly 
toward  her,  "  What  can  you  mean  ?  " 

"  Just  what  I  say.  You  began  as  though  I  were  your 
sister,  then  your  mother.  I  think,  perhaps,  if  we'd  had 
another  hour  together  it  would  have  been  grandmother." 
She  was  shaking  with  suppressed  laughter  now,  or  was  it 
violent  trembling,  for  his  heart,  like  hers,  was  bounding. 

"  I  must  indeed  have  been  delirious,"  he  answered  now, 
not  laughing,  not  even  smiling.  He  had  possessed  him 
self  of  that  other  hand,  despite  its  fluttering  effort.  His 
voice  was  deep  and  grave  and  tremulous.  "  I  called  you 
anything  but  what  I  most  longed  to  call  you — what  I  pray 
God  I  may  call  you,  Angela — my  wife !  " 


L'ENVOI 

THERE  was  a  wedding  at  Sandy  that  winter 
when  Pat  Mullins  took  his  discharge,  and  his 
land  warrant,  and  a  claim  up  the  Beaver,  and 
Norah  Shaughnessy  to  wife.  There  was  another,  many  a 
mile  from  Sandy,  when  the  May  blossoms  were  showering 
in  the  orchard  of  a  fair  old  homestead  in  the  distant  East, 
and  then  Neil  Blakely  took  his  bride  to  see  "the  land  of  the 
leal  "  after  the  little  peep  at  the  lands  that  now  she  shared 
with  him.  There  is  one  room  in  the  beautiful  old  Colonial 
mansion  that  they  soon  learned  to  call  "  father's,"  in  an 
ticipation  of  the  time  when  he  should  retire  and  come 
to  hang  the  old  saber  on  the  older  mantel  and  spend  his 
declining  years  with  them.  There  is  another,  sacred  to 
Aunt  Janet,  where  she  was  often  welcomed,  a  woman 
long  since  reconciled  to  Angela's  once  "  obnoxious,"  but 
ever  devoted  admirer.  There  were  some  points  in  which 
Aunt  Janet  suffered  sore.  She  had  views  of  her  own 
upon  the  rearing  and  management  of  children,  and  these 
views  she  did  at  first  oppose  to  those  of  Angela,  but  not 
for  long.  In  this,  as  in  her  choice  of  a  husband,  Angela 
had  to  read  her  declaration  of  independence  to  the  elder 
woman. 

There  is  another  room  filled  with  relics  of  their  frontier 
days, — Indian  weapons,  blankets,  beadwork, — and  among 

327 


328  AN  APACHE  PRINCESS 

these,  in  a  sort  of  shrine  of  its  own,  there  hangs  a  por 
trait  made  by  a  famous  artist  from  a  little  tintype,  taken 
by  some  wandering  photographer  about  the  old  Apache 
reservation.  Wren  wrote  them,  ere  the  regiment  left 
Arizona,  that  she  who  had  been  their  rescuer,  and  then  so 
long  disappeared,  finally  wedded  a  young  brave  of  the 
Chiricahua  band  and  went  with  him  to  Mexico.  That 
portrait  is  the  only  relic  they  have  of  a  never  forgotten 
benefactress — Natzie,  their  Apache  Princess. 


THE  END, 


A  DAUGHTER  of  the  Sioux 

BY  GENERAL  CHARLES  KING 

A  Tale  of  the  Indian  Frontier 
Illustrations  by  Frederic  Remington  and  Edwin  Willard   Deming 


SOME  PRESS  NOTES 


The  Chicago  Dally  News 
A  stronger  story  than  any  he  has  writ 
ten  for  many  years. 

The  Philadelphia  Item 

A  genuinely  delightful  tale,  clean, 
wholesome,  thoroughly  enjoyable.  .  . 

The  Baltimore  American 

Is  full  of  interest,  and  equals,  if  not 
surpasses,  his  best  previous  efforts. 

The  Portland  (Me.)  Press 

Thig  captivating  novel  is  quite  per 
fect  of  its  kind  and  there  is  not  one 
dull  line  from  start  to  finish. 

The  Burlington  Hawk  eye 

la  one  of  General  King's  best  works 
and  withal  a  most  entertaining  and 
fascinating  story  of  army  life. 

The  San  Francisco  Chronicle 

The  story  is  full  of  life  and  move 
ment,  and  all  the  details  of  army  life 
are  described  with  that  perfect  knowl 
edge  which  carries  conviction  to  the 
reader. 

The  Cleveland  Leader 

It  is  the  strongest  and  most  enter 
taining  story  he  has  written  for  many 
a  day.  ...  It  gets  a  grip  on  the  read 
er  in  the  first  chapters  and  holds  it  to 
the  end. 


The  World,  New  York  City 

A  soldier's  story  told  with  a  soldier's 
swing.  ...  Is  capitally  illustrated 
and  has  a  particularly  handsome  and 
tasteful  cover  portrait  of  the  heroine 
in  colors. 

The  Pittsburg  Leader 

There  is  a  naturalness  about  the 
story  that  makes  it  of  decided  interest, 
and  every  one  who  reads  it  will  lay  the 
book  down  with  a  feeling  of  regret 
that  the  end  has  been  reached  so  soon. 

The  Minneapolis  Tribune 

Is  the  best  pieca  of  work  General 
King  has  given  his  admiring  public 
in  a  long  time.  Is  full  of  incident  and 
romance,  and  its  central  theme  con 
tains  a  dramatic  power  worthy  of  sub 
ject  and  author. 

The  Literary  World 

To  General  King  we  are  deeply  in 
debted  for  much  information  concern 
ing  family  life  at  fort  and  trading  post. 
In  these  days  of  the  problem  novel  and 
the  yellow  journal,  it  is  a  mental  pleas 
ure  and  a  moral  profit  to  read  of  men 
who  are  in  love  with  their  own  wives, 
of  women  who  adore  their  own  hus 
bands. 


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